


Angel

by GrapeJellyfish



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Feels, Bakery, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, High School, Homelessness, M/M, Romance, SO MUCH FLUFF, Travel, probably too much fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-01-09 00:31:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 64,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrapeJellyfish/pseuds/GrapeJellyfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A simple act of kindness can lead to so much more.<br/>During a wintery January night one stranger helps another, setting off a chain events neither would have ever anticipated.<br/>But as they struggle through their own confusion of loss and love, some room could be cleared for the new start they so desperately need.<br/>A home for one, and a love for both.<br/>Slowly they may start to learn, that Everything's Not Lost...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Square One

**Author's Note:**

> The first line on the first page  
> To the end, at the last place  
> You were looking  
> From the start in your own way  
> You just want somebody listening to what you say

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first line on the first page  
> To the end, at the last place  
> You were looking  
> From the start in your own way  
> You just want somebody listening to what you say

A soft chime rang through the small bakery’s interior as glass doors slid shut, sealing in the warmth from another frigid January night. “A cold snap is predicted tonight.” The small lady at the counter lectured, as her employee worked in the back, counting inventory for the day.

“That’s what I heard.” Came a muffled reply from the storeroom.

“I suppose it’s about time though. It’s been an unusually warm winter this year.” Cold rolls were place on the counter, as she removed them from inside their display cases, one after the other. The day old bread would be thrown away that evening along with the trash. “I think the coldest we’ve had so far has been only eight degrees below zero!”

The boy taking stock smiled to himself as he weighed the last bag of raisins. Jotting down the number on his spreadsheet and emerging from the dry storage. “It was bound to happen eventually, I guess…” eyes gazing over the wooden bench, running his had across its smooth surface to check for any residual flour from the day’s production. “I mean; we do live in the North. It’s almost mandatory that we freeze to death each year.”

That received a laugh from the older woman in the front as she finished setting out the day’s leftovers. “I’m about to take out the trash, Marco, dear. Is there anything you would like to take home?”

As if on cue, the boy’s eyes rose to the shop window, picking up the faint outline of a figure, leaning casually on a wall across the street. “Definitely.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

It had been a little over two months ago that this routine had started. In early November, Marco had noticed a young man lingering outside the bakery come closing hours each night. He had thought nothing of it at the time; simply assuming the stranger was using the spot as a rendezvous point and walking casually by without discern. It was only after a few consecutive visits, that Marco had begun to pick up on the other’s almost gaunt palidity. He stood on the opposite side of the street, always. Always shifting uneasily from one foot to the other and shooting wary glances up and down the street. His posture seemed defeated, almost, and he had a glazed look to his eyes that vaguely resembled that of an abandoned puppy’s. It was then that Marco began noticing his apparent lack of alternative apparel, and rather disheveled demeanor. As the days went by, Marco’s curiosity grew. Often times he found his mind wandering to that man- wrapped up in a baggy military jacket and holey combat boots, hood pulled forcefully over his unshaven face- as he worked in the back, kneading dough absently, almost anticipating the end of his shift. Eventually he had worked up the nerve, crossing the street one evening, and addressing the man, albeit, nervously.

_‘Hey, uh, I work at that bakery, over there…’_ he gestured vaguely; aware of the other’s intense stare as he continued anxiously- in all attempts to avoid an awkward silence. _‘-A-anyway… I noticed you kind of come around here a lot in the evenings, and I was uh…’_ at that point Marco had felt himself rapidly losing his nerve under the sharp eyes of the other and thrust a box of leftover rolls in his arms. The man’s eyes had widened in surprise as he automatically made to hold the item he had just been given, having no time to reply, as Marco had immediately fled the scene with a hurried _‘Here._ ’

Somehow that had spurred the beginning of a routine, if Marco could call it that. Every evening, come closing, he would cross the street, box of leftovers in arm and pass it off to the stranger, who mumbled a muted ‘thank you’ in a voice that didn’t quite suit his apparent age. He didn’t know why, but Marco had begun to look forward to these small exchanges with the stranger. He was interesting, he was, different, he was somebody from a world that was not his own. And for some reason Marco found that simple interaction growing to become the highlight of his day. Whoever this destitute transient was had no idea how much of an impact he was making on Marco Bodt’s life.

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Good night, see you tomorrow morning.” Marco smiled, as he stepped out into the steadily cooling air, bracing himself to the cold. It often took a few minutes to adjust to the chill each evening as the days grew cooler, foreshadowing the cold snap predicted in that morning’s forecast. Glancing down the road, Marco’s grip tightened on the cardboard box in his hands, and he stepped out into traffic, crossing the street in a few short strides. His eyes fell on the figure, crouching and huddled in the doorframe of an adjacent shop, grey toque pulled down over his ears, the other half of his face buried beneath the collar of his worn jacket. ‘That will hardly keep him warm through the night.’ Marco thought, as his attention fell on the thin combat boots and ripped denim jeans the stranger was haphazardly sporting. The other had obviously not noticed him, as he was too busy trying to keep from exposing too much skin to the elements, clenching his teeth to the shivers that persistently shook his body. Marco could tell, simply by looking, that he was frozen. The sight tugged at his conscience, and he glanced down at the white cardboard box in his hands. Was this really all he could do? “Hey.” He called softly, earning an edgy jump from the other.

“Fuck, what the hell?” The man snarled, before glancing up, a scowl resting comfortably on his obscured face before flickering quickly into surprise at the identity of his visitor. “Oh, it’s you… sorry, I didn’t…” He muttered his voice trailing off abjectly as he averted his eyes once again to the pavement at his feet. His voice, it didn’t suit him.

“No! No, it’s alright!” Marco laughed, holding up his hands apologetically. “I should have been a little more thoughtful before just sneaking up on you like that. You seemed a little preoccupied.”

The stranger just shot him a sort of questioning look as Marco continued to prattle on nervously, smile still plastered to his face.

“-I mean, even I would be surprised if somebody-“

“I get it.” The other interrupted shortly, cutting the rambling brunette off mid sentence.

Marco snapped his mouth shut, blinking absently a few times as the silence stretched heavily between them. They had rarely ever exchanged much more than a simple ‘thanks.’ before this, and Marco felt himself becoming increasingly embarrassed at his apparent lack of social grace. Marco shifted nervously, glancing down at the frozen pavement, his eyes landing on the pastry box, still clutched in his gloved hands. “Anyway, uh, here.” He held the box towards the other, hoping the offering would buffer the next series of words out of his mouth; “It’s supposed to be getting really cold tonight. Like, really cold… and, you don’t really look like you’re all that prepared. So I was, well, thinking, that maybe- if you wanted- you could stay at my place?” He paused, examining the other’s reaction before continuing, anxiously. “I mean- it’s just- I would feel really bad if you froze to death out here or something…” Marco trailed off, feeling his face grow warm with embarrassment as he ducked his head, feebly glancing towards the other boy.

His eyes were met with a dismayed gape, as it seemed the other took a moment to process the barrage of words that had just been simultaneously dumped at his feet, accompanying his nightly meal of day-old bread. “Excuse me?” He replied weakly, clearly not wanting to believe the words he thought he heard with the ones that were actually spoken.

Marco reddened, and glanced self-consciously down the deserted sidewalk. “I just thought that maybe you’d want somewhere warmer to sleep, seeing as the temperature is already starting to drop. And, well, I just don’t think I could be okay with knowing you were out here freezing if I could do something about it- you know?”

Nodding feebly, the other glanced down at his un-gloved hands, shaking rather violently in the cold, seemingly considering his options. As the silence stretched into what felt, to Marco, like an endless series of weekends, he rapidly became aware of the nagging uncertainty in the back of his mind. _‘What if he’s a mass murderer, or some kind of serial killer? Does he hate you now? Is he going to tell you to get the hell away from him? What if he thinks you’re crazy?’_ Marco was pretty certain the first two were unlikely; he didn’t look like a crazy killer. If anything, the concealed stranger crouching on the ground before him looked a little lost and defeated. He looked like he needed and friend, Marco observed. For some reason the thought made his heart beat just a little bit faster, and he didn’t know why.

“So… is that a yes?” He pressed nervously, shoving his hands into jacket pockets and tentatively biting down on his lower lip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is there anybody out there who is lost and hurt and lonely too  
> Are they bleeding all your colours into one?  
> And if you come undone as if you've been run through  
> Some catapult, it fired you, you wonder if your chance will ever come  
> Or if you're stuck in square one
> 
> -
> 
> I would venture to call chapter one more of a prologue than anything else...  
> I hope you enjoy this journey, as I continue to pen words for your entertainment.


	2. Speed of Sound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Marco is wondering what he ever did to make the gods so angry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All those signs, I knew what they meant.  
> Some things you can invent.  
> Some get made, and some get sent,

 

Warmth rushed up to greet him, as Marco gently swung the door open to his small apartment, reaching around in the dark until his fingers brushed against the light switch, illuminating the room in a soft glow. “Sorry, it’s a little small…” He laughed, glancing back at the disheveled presence behind him. Kicking off his shoes and placing them beside the door, the brunette turned around, with a grin. “Well, what’s mine is yours I guess.”

The stranger tentatively stepped into Marco’s apartment, taking it in cautiously, as his eyes scanned the room. The walls were painted a light honey colour, casting the living space in a comforting warm hue. Upon glancing to his left, though, the stranger’s eyes widened in abject horror, breaking the mask of apparent disinterest for the first time since Marco had invited him home. Marco had known this was coming. The day he first set eyes on the apartment, he would soon learn to call “home”, Marco had worn the exact same wide-eyed astonishment as his current house guest. Marco’s kitchen was decked out in the most horrendous shade of vibrant orange the 60’s could apparently muster at the time of its creation. Sporting large orange cabinets with pearl white handles complete with a peeling vinyl countertop. It looked as if a tribe of rebel hippies had simultaneously vomited all over the kitchen to create such a- cough- masterpiece. The only thing missing was the military green icebox. Unfortunately, in a horrifying clash of eras, his fridge was as modern as they came, almost gleaming with early 21st century technological advances apparent at the time. It was, suffice to say, the feature of his otherwise ordinary apartment.

“Yeah. I know.” Marco laughed, rubbing the back of his neck, a little degraded at his kitchen’s unabashedly vibrant… personality. “It’s pretty bad, isn’t it?”

“Holy fuck dude…” Were the only words that escaped the stranger’s mouth as he continued to gape, almost mesmerized by its psychedelic countenance.

Marco smiled, glancing sideways at his unwarranted houseguest. If anything, he had to admit, the kitchen was a great icebreaker. “Hey, um. If you want to take a shower, you’re more than welcome to.”

Breaking his gaze from the kitchen, his guest glanced down the hallway towards the rest of his apartment. “If that’s okay with you…” He mumbled, seemingly a little put off by the suggestion.

“Yeah, of course! If anything, it will warm you up a bit.” He smiled, giving the other a once over. “It looks like we’re about the same size too. So I could give your clothes a wash while you’re here. I really don’t mind lending you some of mine.”

The stranger blinked, looking slightly taken aback by Marco’s proposal. “Uh, sure… that would be… thanks.” He trailed off, looking a little lost for words.

“Like I said. Make yourself at home. I really don’t mind.” Marco grinned, throwing another smile his way before disappearing down the hall to find his guest some sleepwear.

Stepping back out into the hallway, he found the other leaning at the kitchen counter, elbows resting on its soft linoleum, his amber eyes gazing off somewhere distant. He had removed his jacket and beanie, revealing an unruly mop of light brown hair, falling shaggily at his scruffy jaw line. The stranger had a rather patchy beard lining his face, and Marco could imagine that, at one time, he would have been quite good looking. “Here, you can wear these.” He offered, stepping forward, and placing the clothes and a towel on the countertop. “There are some clippers and there’s an extra razor in there too if you want to use either.”

Breaking his gaze from the adjacent wall, the stranger nodded curtly and made off towards the bathroom. Sticking his head back out after a few moments to mutter a hesitant “Thanks.”

As he watched the door close quietly, Marco busied himself with attempting to clear the somewhat limited space in his living room, nudging the second hand corduroy couch back a ways to create some legroom between it and the coffee table. It had been a long time since Marco had even thought to invite anybody over, and he was feeling himself becoming increasingly giddy. As he rummaged through the space, haphazardly shoving aside some loose papers and pencils to clear the surface. Marco found himself smiling enthusiastically despite himself. Sure, he would admit that there was a certain amount of selfish karmic indulgence that came with helping a homeless member of society. But, more then that, Marco was genuinely happy that he was able to make a difference in this man’s life, if only for one night. There had been something intriguing about the nameless stranger the moment Marco had set eyes on him. Something in the back of his mind had wondered about him. He found it was a curiosity that rarely came alive around others, an almost desperate plea to pursue the strange man across the street, whose shadow had been burnt into the backs of his eyelids nearly three months ago. Marco didn’t know why, but he felt an unmistakable draw towards him. Something unexplainable and that tugged at his subconscious every time he set foot on the other side of that roadway.

_‘Those clippers have been going for quite a while’_ Marco noted, curiously, glancing sidelong at the closed bathroom door as the low buzzing continued. ‘What the heck is he doing in there?’

Shrugging it off, Marco resumed his task of creating space, grabbing a rather large red hoodie that was flung over the back of the couch and holding it up in confusion. “When was the last time Reiner even came here?” Marco muttered, giving the giant jumper a questioning once over before hanging it on the door. Making a mental note to send him a text message come morning. After shuffling around for a few more minutes, fidgeting nervously for another few, and deliberating whether or not it would be weird to order them some pizza the bathroom door swung open. Marco glanced over, however, halting his current train of thought, as an insanely attractive young man stepped out in place of the shaggy homeless guy that had been there if not thirty minutes ago. “O-oh.” Was all the sound Marco managed to force out of his quickly constricting chest, and even that came out in a weird breathy sigh- thing. Marco’s eyes followed the curve of his- apparently hot- guest’s neck as the other boy ran a hand through his damp hair. ‘That’s what the buzzing sound was.’ His hair was now clipped into a short mop of light brown at the top of his head, falling over a closely shaven undercut that tapered at the base of his neck. His face was free from facial hair, and, Marco noted, all the dirt had been washed off, as his eyes flicked up and down the other boy’s physique. Where the hell did the other guy go?

“Hey, thanks for letting me use the shower.”

Marco’s attention was pulled back to the present, quickly realizing, with some mortification, that had been staring. “O-oh.” _Is that really the best you can come up with Bodt?_ “It’s no problem.” He smiled, pulling his gaze back to the flyer he had been holding prior to the other’s appearance. “I was thinking we could order some pizza for dinner. Is that okay?” He chanced a glance at the other, now leaning his shoulder casually against the wall, amber eyes watching him as he spoke. Marco felt his face beginning to heat up and he quickly looked away, gaze falling, once again, on the pamphlet in his hands.

“Pizza?” He sounded genuinely surprised. “Uh, yeah… definitely” his voice was gentler than Marco had expected.

Peeking back up, he noticed the other boy had his gaze fixed on the carpet, looking rather subdued. “Great.” He beamed, pulling out his phone, flipping it open and dialing the number for their order.

 

“Hey, get out of the fucking way!”

“Not a chance. You think I’m gonna let you win just because you let me have the last piece of pizza?”

“I don’t expect you to _let_ me win. I’m beating your ass fair and square. Just because you own the game doesn’t make it yours to win.”

Marco laughed, chancing a glance at the other boy, now comfortably seated on the couch beside him. He wore a fixated scowl, light brown hair flopping unceremoniously across his forehead, eyebrows scrunched, and mouth down turned in concentration. He was all angles, _‘sharp and vivid angles’_ Marco noted vaguely, as his eyes traced the boy’s severe jaw line, clenched in fixated competition, casting a vague shadow down his long neck and disappearing beneath the green t-shit Marco had leant him. He gulped nervously. It felt as if the universe was punishing him for his random act of charity; dumping somebody this attractive down in the middle of Marco’s living room and expecting him to just do nothing. Turning back to the game, admittedly, a little more flushed than before, he attempted to return his focus to the task at hand. 

“Wha-? How did you pass me?”

“Don’t act surprised Freckles! It was only a matter of time.”

“Yeah, right. I call bullshit. You cheated somehow.”

“You wish I cheated!!” The boy bit back a laugh, seemingly saving it for his foreordained victory, as he had called it.

Marco scoffed as they drifted round another corner; their simulated go carts, neck in neck, nearing the finish line at an ever-quickening pace.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuuuuccckkkkk!!” Were the last words out of his guest’s mouth as the two barreled over the checkered line in tandem, leaving the game to decide upon a victor.

Marco laughed, as his name popped up on the screen, earning an anguished moan from the other. “Wait, wait.” Marco urged, laughing as he turned to face the other boy with a wide smile. He knew he probably looked like some sort of huge dork. “Could you refresh my memory? What was that you said about my ‘imminent demise’?”

“Shut it!”

Marco ‘oofed’ lightly, as he found himself being smacked heavily in the face by a loose couch cushion. “It’s not my fault!” He smirked, grabbing the cushion, and yanking it from the other boy’s hands. “You certainly make a habit out of letting your ego do the talking though.”

The pillow hit the other with a quiet ‘poof’, leaving one startled looking teenager in its wake. Marco laughed at his lack of reaction and got up. Bending down to clean off the remainder of their dinner from the well-worn coffee table. “I guess I owe you a rematch then, don’t I?” He replied, flashing the boy a smile before dumping the cardboard box in the recycling. _‘Am I flirting?’_

“Rematch, my ass, I’m not counting that one you bastard! You got lucky! Besides, I’m out of practice.”

“I didn’t know you got so worked up over Mario Kart. Maybe next time we’ll have to find a tamer game.” Marco ducked as another pillow shot past his head, hitting the wall behind him and sliding down softly, to land on the linoleum floor.

He was scowling now. “You know, I never pegged you as someone who would have such an attitude. You’re actually kind of a jerk, aren’t you?”

“A jerk?” Marco laughed at that, never had he heard that word attached to his name before. “Apparently only to you.”

The other boy raised a thin eyebrow in mock seriousness “So you’re a jerk to the homeless then?” His lips parted into a malevolent grin, amber eyes flashing. “How many others know about your secret life Freckles? Picking up homeless people just to berate them and beat them at Mario Kart?”

Marco couldn’t stop grinning as he watched the other boy sarcastically rant on about his various horrible traits and why he was such an atrocious member of society. It had been an awkward start, but seeing how comfortable the other boy had become in his own apartment made Marco’s stomach do a little flip, and he wasn’t quite sure why. “Well I’ll keep that in mind next time I decide to take in such an undisciplined delinquent like yourself.’

That caused the boy to sputter back a lackluster retort before ducking his head and flopping back nonchalantly on Marco’s couch.

A few moments of complacent silence fell between the two, as Marco crossed the room to retrieve a few blankets, and the stranger tugged absently at a frayed corner on Marco’s couch.

“Hey… “

Marco glanced at the figure, hunched over now, resting his arms on his knees and staring intensely at the carpet under his feet. “Yes?”

“Uh, just… Thanks. I guess… For, you know…” He closed his mouth, eyes still transfixed on the spot at his feet.

Marco felt his stomach do another weird flip as he noted a soft quality in the other’s voice he hadn’t yet heard. “What? No, really. You don’t need to thank me. It was the least I could do, considering.”

“Yeah, well, still. Thanks, or whatever.” The youth mumbled faintly, shuffling his feet. “Not a lot of people bother to do shit like that, and well-“ He gestured vaguely to the room around them “-this.”

Marco felt his face break into a smile “Like I said, you don’t have to thank me.” He dropped the blankets down on the couch, causing the other boy to jump, as his amber eyes fell on the quilts now resting at his side. “I noticed you weren’t exactly prepared for the weather out there anyway. And I’d rather you not freeze to death, if it can be helped.” He offered the boy his warmest smile, hoping it would convey everything he was trying to say without sounding like a complete loser. _‘There’s something special about you. I don’t know what. But I feel like I want to know you, and have you in my life. Maybe so I can help change it. Or maybe I’m being selfish. But you looked so lonely and I just… I think that I-’_

“Anyway, it’s pretty late, and I have to be up early for work, so I’m gonna turn in. You’re welcome to stay up and play games of whatever if you want, there are movies in that shelf there too. Oh! And, don’t worry about waking up when I do! It’s ridiculous how early I have to be up, my friends like to joke that nobody living should ever be up at the time I am. So you can just sleep in, I’m pretty quiet in the morning, but, you know, if I wake you or something, just- uh, go back to sleep!” Marco was rambling again. He felt heat creeping up the back of his neck as he mentally screamed at himself to _‘STOP TALKING!’_

The smug grin had returned to his guest’s face again. Watching Marco in apparent glee, as he observed the brunette’s discernable lack of decorum as he tried to desperately reign himself back in.

“- What I’m trying to say is good night.” He finally managed, looking a little exasperated after his long-winded speech, of sorts.

“Yeah, you too.” The other boy replied, a genuine smile flashing across his face before disappearing back behind his now usual expression of haughty indifference. “Good night.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you could see it then you'd understand,  
> ah, when you see it then you'll understand?
> 
> -
> 
> Coldplay will be VERY relevant later. Until then, please make do with my vague allusions.  
> Thanks for those who have sent kudos!  
> Hang on guys, these two are in for a VERY bumpy ride, this is just the beginning.
> 
> Next time: Jean gets away from Marco's awful kitchen, and into a bit of trouble with the law.


	3. Glass of Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jean gets in a LOT of trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That is just the way it was  
> Nothing could be better and nothing ever was  
> Oh, they say you can see your future  
> Inside a glass of water, the riddles and the rhymes  
> "Will I see heaven in mine?"

 

Dull sunlight filtered in to the room, casting the area in cool hues of blue and grey. A sleepy listlessness swept over the figure on the couch, huddled beneath warm blankets as his eyes slowly blinked open. Languidly eyeing the opposite wall as his brain took a moment to buffer, he noted that this was the warmest he had been months. Suddenly, amber eyes flew open as he sat bolt upright, blankets sliding weakly off his frame and pooling at his waist. He was warm, he had blankets, and he wasn’t dirty, or stiff, or shivering. The realization dawned on him slowly, as he continued to take in his surroundings. An old tube TV pressed against the wall opposite him, wooden shelves on each side stacked full with movies and games, a rough looking coffee table. That hideous kitchen… His mind wandered back to the night before- the enthusiastic freckled baker boy that had leant him his couch, his shower, clothes, and pizza. God! It had been so long since he last tasted pizza. He almost wondered if people like that actually existed and his mind wasn’t just exaggerating the guy’s good traits. For all he knew, that was more likely. Running a hand through his now clipped hair- he hadn’t done that in a while either- he stretched, feeling his muscles almost yawn as he lowered his arms, feeling uncharacteristically content. He knew that by the end of the day, this would all just be a memory, there was no saying he couldn’t enjoy it in the meantime.

Throwing his feet onto the carpeted floor, he sighed. It surprised him how even the simplest things, like not wearing shoes to bed, suddenly had become important highlights of his day. One year ago, he wouldn’t have believed it. Padding into the kitchen, feet stepping onto the cooler linoleum, he grabbed a clean glass and filled it with water from the tap- yet another luxury not to be forgotten. He turned to lean on the small island separating the kitchen from the rest of the house. Scanning the room, his amber eyes caught on a piece of folded notepaper at the table, the words “Good Morning” scrawled across the front in neat handwriting. “Figures” he scoffed. The freckled boy never seemed to disappoint, living up to every clichéd expectation that had been made of him. Opening up the carefully folded paper, eyes briefly reading what it said:

Good Morning

I hope you slept okay last night. I’m sorry if I woke you up this morning, I really didn’t mean to trip over the garbage can. Oh, and sorry about swearing, if you heard that.

He chuckled to himself. Who apologized for swearing? This guy, apparently. Although, he found himself almost regretting having not been awake during said hour. He would have loved to witness the all to innocent freckled boy sputter out whatever few choice curse words he did have in his repertoire. He guessed not very many.

Wow, I’m even rambling in this letter! Anyways! Don’t worry about rushing out. I really don’t mind if you stick around for a while. Just lock the door on your way out and stuff. Maybe I’ll see you tonight?

-Marco

Sweeping his gaze over the letter once again, he vaguely noted the pair had never exchanged names. “Marco...” He muttered. It suited him, along with those stupid freckles and large brown eyes. The boy pretty much radiated sincerity; he imagined it would be hard for almost anybody to hate the guy, the way he paraded around with that stupid smile slapped on his face at all times. The name Marco just made sense. ‘ _At least his is easy to pronounce.’_ He noted vaguely. Sure, the name Jean would have been a good idea, had he been living in Paris, France, or some shit like that. But the youth often found himself thoroughly exasperated whenever a newcomer tried to pronounce his name. Too many times had he smiled through the blatant butchering of his surname for Jean to casually pretend that it didn’t aggravate him to his very core. There was the ever common mispronunciation of “JEEN” Making him sound like a pair of unwashed denim pants, or the; I’m-trying-to-say-it-corretly-because-i-care-but-i-don’t-care-enough-to-bother-actually-learning-it-properly, those who went around calling him “John.” or “Juuhawn”. It had gotten to the point where he didn’t even bother to correct people anymore. _‘I mean look it up on the god dammed Internet. It’s not gonna kill you.’_ Ignorance should only go so far.

Discarding the letter back on the kitchen table, he noticed a neatly folded pile of familiar clothing at the foot of the couch. _‘Are you serious? He actually folded them?’_ Jean marveled in muted fascination, taking in the sight of his messy dregs of clothing stacked neatly in a little pile. _‘Is this guy serious?’_   Flopping back down on the couch, he held his jacket up and examined it. _‘I didn’t know it was actually green…”_ The lanky teenager pulled a face tossed and it over the side of the couch. This was too weird. Throwing his arms across his eyes, he let out a meditative sigh. What did he used to do on mornings like this? You know, besides the rather glaringly obvious pastime of your average 18-year-old boy.  A slow quiet ‘tick’ tick’ could he heard, coming from a small clock on the opposite side of the room. Jean shifted his arm to shoot a glare at the offending sound before lapsing back into a passive silence. After a moment’s contemplation he mumbled a rough “What the hell.” And closed his eyes, lowering his right hand onto his stomach, and slowly downwards.

Sliding his fingers beneath the waistband of his pants, he let out a shaky sigh. God it had been a really long time. Wrapping his fingers around himself, Jean bit down hard on his bottom lip, his conscience playing at the back of his mind. It’s not exactly like this was his couch or anything.  Fuck that, Marco was a guy, he’d understand. He had _needs_ after all. Dropping his hand lower as he rationalized his decision, the image of that god damned freckled face suddenly appeared behind his eyelids. Jean’s eyes flew open as he quickly pulled his hand back, sitting up straight. _‘Fuck this! Nope! No! Too weird, I’m out.’_

Deciding on abandoning all attempts at his previous endeavor, Jean rose to his feet, taking in the otherwise empty apartment once more. It was small, really small. He eyed the hallway, separating bathroom from bedroom, wondering just what kind of skeletons this kid had hiding in his closet anyway. _‘Nobody could be that nice without something to hide.’_ His hand gripped the door handle carefully as he slowly pushed the wooden door open.

The room was sparse, that much he had noticed. Taking in the lone double bed pushed up against the wall opposite the door. There was a nightstand table beside it, and a wardrobe on the wall to his right. “Wow, talk about frugal.” He muttered under his breath, stepping further into the room, noting it’s immaculate cleanliness. Not surprising. As he turned to observe the lone wooden cabinet by the door Jean froze. Amber eyes falling on the shape of what was most definitely a wallet. “Holy shit. What an idiot.” He muttered, swiping the object off the wooden surface and folding it open. There were a few gift cards, and memberships to various grocery chains. Marco’s stupid smile greeted him from a driver’s license, slipped behind a clear plastic sleeve. He looked younger, his ears were bigger, clearly having not grown into them yet, and his freckles were more pronounced. Jean smirked as he examined the photo. What a dork. He flipped nonchalantly through the last few useless pieces of plastic before opening up the larger pocket. “That’s what I thought.” Several bank notes fluttered out as Jean flipped the wallet, checking for missed pockets.  And oh good lord, the kid had a credit card. Jean swallowed nervously, was he really about to take advantage of the one person who had shown him kindness in roughly a year. Turning the wallet over in this palm he fixed his gaze on the walls, painted a dark blue that seemed almost warm. Marco was a pretty great guy. He had been his sole supplier of edible income for the last two months. Not to mention everything else had had done beyond that. “But what kind of idiot just leaves this here?” He mumbled into his hand, rubbing at his eyes, as if it would make the obvious option vanish.  Weighing his options, Jean let out a frustrated sigh. “I like ya Marco. But sometimes you’re just too damn trusting.”

On one hand, the boy had obviously forgotten it. It wasn’t his to take.

On the other hand, Jean was homeless, hungry, and cold. He could use the few thousand, or whatever, dollars sitting in his hand to potentially live through the winter.

As nice as his freckled host had been, the latter seemed a lot more appealing.

Shoving the object in question into his pocket, he headed back into the main room. If he was going to do this, he would need to take is leave NOW.

Jean quickly gathered up his well-worn clothes and began changing, tossing the t-shirt and pants over the back of the sofa. The two articles of clothing sat in a crumpled heap over the cushions, as if stating a final “fuck you” to the owner who would soon arrive to find his valuable property thoroughly missing. Tugging his grey beanie back over his head, the boy did a once over of the apartment, checking to see if there was anything else worth taking. His reasoning- go big, or go home. There wasn’t, so Jean quickly made his exit. Making sure to shut the door on his way out, he wouldn’t be coming back.

 

* * *

 

The air was thoroughly chilled as Jean made his way down the bustling streets, keeping a wide berth between him and anything to do with a bakery. His breath came out in short puffs as he noted the cold was actually making it hard to breathe. He had been lucky, he noted, feeling a twinge of guilt, that Marco had offered him a place to stay last night. If the day’s current temperature were any indication, he would have frozen long ago. Hands shoved stiffly into his pockets, in attempt to shield them form the cold, Jean elbowed his way past a slowly walking couple and into a department store. The soft elevator music, and a wicked blast of heated air rushed up to greet Jean as he stepped fully inside, squinting his eyes against the powerful gust. Sometimes it felt like everybody was just overcompensating when it was so damned cold outside. Glancing around the open floor, he noted he had entered through the fucking perfume level. Rows upon rows of branded glass cases sat across the brightly polished floor, nearly burning out his retinas under the harsh fluorescent light. Jean briefly contemplated that staring at this for a few minutes would cause the light of the freaking sun to seem like a dim incandescent. Stepping towards the elevators, he glanced a quick scan of the building’s layout before heading to the basement department labeled MEN’S SHOES.

“Just those?” The tanned man behind the cashier counter noted. Eyeing Jean up and down before scanning the leather work boots he had slammed down on the table abruptly.

“Yep.”

The man gave him another look before glancing back at the till and pressing a few buttons. “That’ll be $230 dollars.”

“Uh, card.” Jean muttered, flashing the credit card and glancing away hastily. He couldn’t ignore the mixture of dread, guilt, and fear that was currently throwing a party in his gut as the man passed him the terminal to ring through the purchase. A few tense seconds later, the machine spat out a receipt and the man handed him his bag.

“Have a nice day Mr. Bodt.”

“What? Oh, uh, right. You too.” Jean ducked his head quickly and made for the door. Glancing back as he did so to see the guy watching him while speaking into a telephone. _‘Shit, what the fuck is that about?’_

Jean quickened his pace, he would feel better once he got the hell out of that building, and ideally a few blocks away.

“Excuse me! May I have a word with you for a moment?”

Jean spun around in surprise, as a blonde man, clad in a rather flattering suit approached him. Jean’s eyes widened as he noticed the two security guards following closely behind him. _‘Shit, Shit, Shit, Shit!’_  He spun on his heels and made a break for the door, sprinting the remaining few meters and pressing his hand to the cool metal before he felt himself being violently pulled backwards. Sprawling onto his back, Jean was now staring into the face of a very irritated looking man.

“What the fuck are you running for?” The guy growled, his voice low and menacing as he held Jean in a death grip unbefitting of his short stature. “You guilty of something? Because that sure as hell is the only conclusion I’m seeing.” He tightened his grip around Jean’s chest and Jean felt as if it were going to cave in at any moment.

“Levi, let him speak.” The blonde man from earlier was saying. And to Jean’s relief, the searing pressure oh his ribcage lifted a little.

“I was just going to ask to see some ID sir. Nothing more.” The man addressed Jean curtly. He could see from the nametag that he was the store’s manager, Erwin Smith. “So if you wouldn’t mind.” He held out his hand, a charming smile playing on his lips.

“I can barely move and you expect me to give you my wallet?” Jean spat bitterly, glaring at the charming man in his fucking charming suit. Jean then felt a hand slip into his back pocket and pull the wallet out.

Levi handed it to Erwin and the two exchanged undecipherable glances. “It looks here like this wallet doesn’t, in fact, belong to you, Mr… Bodt? Is it?” Erwin questioned, raising his eyes from the now opened wallet in his hand to meet Jean’s gaze.

Looking away abruptly Jean cursed under his breath, feeling the guilt in his stomach slowly growing into panic.

“I’m sorry, but we will need to call the police. Levi will supervise you until they arrive.” That being said, Erwin turned abruptly and strode off towards the back. His fucking fancy ass polished shoes clicking on the fancy ass polished floor as he went.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So he wrote it on a wall  
> The hollowest of halos is no halo at all  
> Televisions selling plastic figurines of leaders  
> Saying nothing at all  
> And you chime, stars in heaven align
> 
> -
> 
> Jean! What were you thinking! Oh, and guest appearance of Levi and Erwin.  
> (They weren't even supposed to be in this chapter) >0


	4. Swallowed in the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of holding cells, snowflakes, soup, and trendy coffee shops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I could write a book, the one they'll say that shook the world  
> And then it took, it took it back from me  
> And I could write it down and spread it all around  
> Get lost and then get found and you'll come back to me  
> Not swallowed in the sea

 

A phone was ringing somewhere in the distance. He could hear brisk footsteps crossing the concrete floor, the sound of typing, the faint buzz of fluorescent lights, and this annoying drip-drip-drip coming from a faucet somewhere nearby. This was definitely not how Jean had intended to spend his afternoon. Shuffling his feet nervously on the concrete, he picked at the sleeve of his jacket, intentionally keeping his eyes lowered so as not to draw attention as he sat alone in the cold concrete holding cell.

It had taken only 10 minutes for the police to arrive, although, to Jean, it felt as if he had been seated beside the short guard, Levi, for hours. The guy’s intimidating presence radiated a sort of eerie macabre atmosphere as the two had sat there in relative silence. Time felt as if it had been stretched thin, Jean could almost hear the sound of it snapping as minutes morphed into seemingly endless hours of intimidating silence. He had almost been relieved when the cops arrived. Levi handed him over to them with a short grunt, a few hushed words, and curt nod before exiting the room. The ride to the station had been uneventful and that little ball curling inside Jean’s stomach had now turned to lead. He should have just left the goddamned wallet behind. It certainly felt to Jean like he was being punished for stealing from the freckled angel. Some kind of divine karmic retribution, or some shit like that.

Heaving another heavy sigh, probably his hundredth in the last sixty minutes, Jean leaned back, head resting lightly against the cool concrete wall. The teen slouched lower on his wooden bench of shame and vaguely wondered if they’d have the courtesy to at least let him sleep the night in the holding cell. Chances were, the answer was a resounding ‘no’. Other than the previous night, at Marco’s, Jean couldn’t remember the last time he had somewhere that wasn’t a bench, or some kind of cardboard mattress to sleep on. He could venture a guess though… slouching even further down; the brunette pulled his arms across his chest, glowering at the memory replaying in his head.

Thomas Fucking Wagner, the jerk with all the good ideas. A shock of blonde, the smell of coffee shops, midnights spent under the stars, stolen kisses, Yellow… Jean pressed the heel of his palms into his eyes, seeing stars as he vigorously rubbed away the images he had so painstakingly tried to forget. A hesitant apology and an understated “see ya.” was the last he had ever heard. Those words echoed in his head, swirling into a vortex, the likes of an uncontrollable typhoon, circling, echoing, and revolving again and again and again. He had been standing there. Right fucking there! It had been his first and last mistake, the only time he would ever leave his heart on the goddamned doorstep like a helpless child. Every single door that was open had been simultaneously shut, all thanks to Thomas Fucking Wagner. Jean knew better than to expect some kind of salvation, his parents weren’t an option, not after what he’d put them through, and his brothers? Jean knew better than to expect anything other than an obligatory card on the regulated days of celebration per annum. “Why can’t I just forget you…” He mumbled helplessly into his palm as he hunched forward, shutting his eyes to the bright fluorescents. _‘We’ll do it together. If they aren’t okay with it, you can always live with me.’_ Jean snorted ruefully, _‘bullshit.’_

Jean jumped as the grating squeak of metal on concrete started him from his thoughts, pulling the teen back into the stark, damp surroundings of the station’s glorified holding cell.

“You’re one lucky kid.” The officer said, giving Jean a curt nod as he motioned for him to follow. Rising from his seat, Jean obediently fell in pace behind the officer. Fighting with a cop was currently the last thing he needed to argue his innocence. Rounding a corner, the cop began speaking, his tone gruff and unemotional. “He’s all yours, but watch yourself. Problems like this happen more than you’d think. I don’t want to see a kid like yourself getting stuck in the middle of something…” It took a moment for Jean to register that he wasn’t the one being spoken to. Quickly raising his eyes from to floor of the office, his gaze fell on a rather sweetly smiling freckled teenager.

 “-ah, I don’t usually… It’s not… I’ll be fine. Thank you.” Marco gave the officer a little nod, his brown eyes meeting Jean’s. The eye contact caused Jean to wince and quickly look away, gaze landing on a stack of papers at the counter separating them.

The officer turned to Jean this time, moustache bristling as he stepped aside to allow the youth exit. “Keep your nose out of trouble. You’re pretty lucky this guy likes you, or you’d be in for a lot worse then a few hours of idling in our cell.”

Jean just nodded, head down, as he stepped out from behind the barrier. He was pretty sure this **_was_** the worst punishment imaginable. For some reason Marco was there, the guy who had been way too fucking trusting of him to begin with. Standing right fucking there, in the middle of the fucking room, with that stupid fucking expression on his face. And worse, he was watching Jean as if he wasn’t the lowest scum of the earth imaginable; he was actually there, fucking smiling at him. ‘ _Why is he here??’_ Still unable to look Marco in the eyes, Jean shuffled unsteadily, creating some space between the two before awkwardly clearing his throat.

“Come on, lets get coffee..”

And that was it. They were walking out of the station. Jean felt numb as he watched his feet move of their own accord, falling casually one after another, keeping pace with Marco’s long strides. It wasn’t supposed to be this easy, wasn’t he supposed to be locked away, or yelled at, or… something, wasn’t punishment usually inevitable in these situations? Jean wasn’t sure if he should laugh or cry. Glancing at his assumed ‘partner in crime’ he felt the corners of his mouth twitch into something resembling a smile.

He (Marco) was walking beside him, hands shoved in the front pockets of his oversized jacket, freckles sprinkled across his cheeks that were turning pink from the cold. Marco was staring straight ahead, his wide brown eyes focusing on something far away, his breath puffing out in small clouds as they strode in relative silence. _‘He’s actually really cute.’_ Jean flushed as his thoughts stalled. Did he actually just think that? _‘You’re getting in way over your head Kirschtein.’_ Returning his gaze to the now lamplight walkway, Jean attempted to force his thoughts onto anything other than the freckled boy at his side. If he was calling Marco cute… god help him, he had bigger problems to deal with then he thought. _‘It’s that whole adrenaline-mistakes-your-brain-into-thinking–that-you’re-falling-in-love thing.’_ The brunette attempted to rationalize, now glowering distastefully at the frozen concrete. _‘He’s just too nice for his own good…’_ Jean felt eyes watching him as his mind whirred, attempting to quell the blush that had begun creeping it’s way past his neck and ears. Glancing to his left, his eyes met Marco’s, they were, big, and a rich, deep brown, and kind of hypnotizing. _‘Merde!’_   “What?” He snapped, his face pulling into a weird combination of smiling and scowling. He didn’t know what he was doing anymore.

The boy at his side let out a, unbelievably cute giggle before returning his gaze to the front. “You’re just really quiet. Don’t you want to know how you got out so quickly?” He flashed Jean a subdued smile before continuing on, heedless as to whether or not Jean actually did. “I got a call from the police while I was at work. They said they had found my wallet. I was really confused, cause I hadn’t lost it. I told them that and they were like:” He pulled a serious face, “Well we’ve got your ID right here, and I could venture a guess that all these cards with your name on them are also your property.” Marco broke into laugher, bubbling up from his chest like soda pop. His imitation of the police officer sounded alarmingly accurate from what Jean could remember. “That’s when I went to look and realized I hadn’t even taken it with me this morning.” He was blushing now, barely enough for Jean to notice, if he hadn’t been staring, which he was. “Anyway, I sort of put two and two together and figured you may have gone shopping with my credit card.” Marco was saying this and smiling. How was he smiling? Good lord, this guy really was some kind of saint or… angel.

“And, you’re not mad?” Jean felt his voice trail off, falling empty on the frozen ground. His words felt hollow and emotionless. How could he have been so ungrateful? This guy had obviously gone out of his way to help him, and this is how he paid it forward? A $200 bill, and a stolen wallet? Jean felt as if something in his chest was being twisted into a knot. He was an idiot, taking advantage of the only person who had even bothered to show his sorry ass kindness in longer than he could remember. _‘Leave it to me to fuck even that much up.’_

“No.”

‘ _What?’_ “What?” Jean’s eyes flicked up in surprise, amber meeting brown.

Marco’s eyes were bleeding into his vision, some kind of emotion heavy on the contours of his face, but not pity. If anything, he looked a little sad. Marco looked away again, hunching his shoulders against the wind tickling at the base of his neck. He wasn’t really dressed for the weather either, Jean noted, watching the way his arms were stiffly shoved into his pockets. He looked cold. “I get it. It’s not like you have a place to stay anyways. They told me you used it to buy some shoes.” Marco’s eyes met Jean’s again, and he felt as if they had made a little too much eye contact for him to be comfortable with in one discussion. He usually spoke to the ground, if it could be helped. Jean hated how easy people were to read if you looked into their eyes. Or rather, how easy it was to tell that they didn’t actually care, or cared too much, or just didn’t notice…

“-So I don’t really mind. I mean you needed them anyways.” Marco had resumed talking, eyes no longer roaming on Jean’s face, he wasn’t sure if the was better or not.

“Uh, what?”

Marco blinked, shooting him an amused glance. “You can keep the shoes. I have them right here, so you can just…” At that he shrugged, smiling sheepishly.

Jean just stared, stopping in the middle of the street, full on gaping, like a beached whale or some shit while Marco stood there, looking nervous and a little self-conscious. Was this guy for real? A few moments passed between the two. Finally, Marco shifted restlessly form one foot to the other glancing around the lightly populated block. “Why don’t we-“

 “How, how are you not angry?” Jean asked meekly, having collected himself enough to close his mouth and form a coherent sentence.

Marco looked a little taken aback, resuming their previous pace and glancing over his shoulder for Jean to follow. “I don’t really get angry.” He laughed a little breathlessly, smiling to himself. “I think it annoys people sometimes, but I just don’t see why anger would ever be someone’s first reaction to… anything…”

“You really are an angel.” Jean breathed, a little captivated by the freckled boy’s subdued temperament.

“I’m a what?” Marco turned his head, meeting Jean’s eyes for the millionth time that night.

“Nothing, nothing. I was just thinking out loud. You’re an idiot to trust someone like me twice you know…”

“I guess I just don’t learn then…” He was smiling again.

 

* * *

 

The café was warm. Jean had his hands wrapped around a steaming ceramic mug, filled with the strongest coffee he could buy. Studying the glass, he could make out the faded print that once depicted some kind of pasture with flocks of questionably colored horses running wild. It was really tacky, and a little bit charming. The café was still full, given the late hour; he had expected it to be deserted as the two stepped in, thoroughly chilled by their lengthy walk from the station. The place was decked out in old mismatched wooden tables, adorned with assorted flowers in beer bottles, and chairs the looked almost too comfortable for a café. Quirky paintings hung on the walls and that deep as fuck Bon Iver “Flume” song was wafting out through the ceiling’s speakers. The place looked like an image that had been taken straight out of a scene from “Portlandia.” Complete with hipsters in plastic glasses. As they grabbed the only free table left in the place, Marco had graciously offered to get Jean a drink and some food. He had regrettably obliged, feeling guilty as hell when Marco left to pay for the order. How much money had he spent on Jean already? Too much, that alone was becoming more and more apparent, as Jean reminded himself of the new boots he had yet to pull on to his frozen feet.

“I guess I never properly introduced myself before.” Marco’s voice cut through Jean’s reverie as he sat down, a bowl of soup in one hand, which he passed off to Jean’s side of the table gently. It smelled fucking delicious.  “My name’s Marco. If you haven’t figure that out already.” He was smiling again, and Jean found it was becoming infectious.

“Yeah, I read it in your note this morning. I guess we sort of skipped that part, didn’t we?” He rubbed the back of his neck, eyeing the soup as he tried not to seem too enthusiastic.

Marco’s giggle pushed it’s way back to Jean’s attention, his eyes flying up to see what the boy found so hilarious. “You look really hungry. You can eat it you know.” Marco was practically beaming at him, and Jean would be lying if he said it wasn’t absolutely adorable. Jean hesitantly picked up the spoon and scooped off the bits of parsley floating on the top. Raising it to his lips and blowing tentatively, he chanced a glance at the boy across from him. Marco was sitting there, coffee mug held up to his mouth, as he watched him through the curling steam of his drink. “If you take any longer, it might run away.” He chided. Jean couldn’t see it, but he knew Marco was grinning again. Hastily, he stuck the spoon in his mouth, and oh god, if it weren’t the best oral experience he had in his entire life, up to that point, he would be lying. “Anyway.” Marco glanced down at his coffee nervously, and Jean could tell he was holding back.

“Spit it out freckles. What do you want to know?”

“I just… You never told me your name either…”

“It’s Jean.”

Marco looked a little taken aback at Jean’s brash reply, as he shoveled another spoonful of delicious warm liquid into his mouth. Now that he had started eating, all restraint, and social etiquette, had been thrown to the wind. “Jean.” Marco pronounced his name, using the proper accent on his first try. He looked thoughtful as he mouthed his name silently again, causing Jean to blush. His name wasn’t that interesting, but the way this guy was treating it made it seem like the freaking 8th world wonder. “That’s a French name, right?” Marco was leaning on the table attentively.

“Uh, yeah, it is. My mom’s French, I guess she felt compelled to giver he sons equally conceited and pretentious names, to suit our bloodline or some shit like that.”

Marco blinked thoughtfully. “You don’t get along with your parents?”

Jean scoffed “I don’t think that the High Priestess of Debauchery and Dietary Aids, is all that interested in consorting with the déclassé members of society such as myself at this point.” He leaned heavily on his elbow and huffed testily. “It’s like, all that stuff you read about in tabloids and see on the news; that’s my family in a nutshell.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, remembering, for a moment, the quiet emptiness that was his life back home. It had all seemed so hollow, and void of anything even remotely human, or warm.

Marco made a small “oh” sound as he watched Jean speak, wide-eyed and innocent, and Jean couldn’t help but compare him to a baby bunny. “Is that why you ran away?” He asked hesitantly, after a few seconds of silence.

Jean directed his gaze down and away from Marco’s questioning stare. “Sort of… I mean, it was a lot of things. But partially that…” He glanced up again; Marco was watching him, his brown eyes wide with fascination and something else. He was leaning his elbow on the table, head propped up on his hand at his cheek, pushing his collection of freckles closer to his eyes, brown fringe falling haphazardly across his forehead.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how long have you been living out there?” Marco’s eyes were glued to Jean now, hesitant curiosity practically radiating off of him.

Jean ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back messily, and trying not to think about how big and round Marco’s eyes were. “A little bit over a year.”

“Wow.” Marco breathed, “You’re really brave.”

Jean blinked a few times in quick succession “What? Brave? No way man.” He forced a laugh, “If anything I’m kind of a screw up. I did something really stupid and now I’m paying for it-

“No your not!” a calm voice cut through, Jean frowned. “Just because you messed one little thing up doesn’t make it the end of the world. You’ve been making a life for yourself, out here, with nothing. I wouldn’t call this the work of a screw up.”

Jean blinked, his voice had left him and he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be getting it back anytime soon.

“I mean, you’re not dead, and you’ve got food, and… well, I’m here…” At that, Marco blushed, ducking his head and took an anxious sip from his rapidly cooling mug of coffee. “Well, no, er- that came out wrong… What I mean is that… I want to help you. Cause it’s cold and all… and I just wanted to let you know that you can stay at my place whenever you want…” He stared fixedly at his coffee, unmoving. “I don’t mind.” The last bit was squeaked a little breathlessly, but Jean didn’t have trouble catching the boy’s shy proposal.

“You… would really do that?” He felt as if somebody had knocked him over the head with a heavy blunt object.

Marco gave a feeble nod, still refusing to raise his head, as he took another sip, seemingly more for something to do than anything else.

Jean gulped, unsure as to what the appropriate response would be in this kind of situation. He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t want to take Marco up on the offer. Winters in Trost had the tendency to go from mild to atrocious in the time span of a single minute. His likelihood of making it through the season without frostbite seemed less and less plausible as the season stretched on, and Jean knew he would eventually suffer some kind of side effect due to the weather, if not a permanent one. And Jean had to admit, spending most of his nights in Marco’s tiny apartment, playing videogames and eating pizza, as they had the night before, didn’t sound half bad. ”Is there something wrong with you?”

Marco looked even more embarrassed now, his cheeks burning red beneath the sprinkle of freckles. “What?”

Jean pushed his chair backwards a little, balancing precariously on the back legs as he stirred his soup thoughtfully. “I mean, I stole your wallet.” He raised his eyes, meeting Marco’s, who still looked a little taken aback. “What makes you think I won’t do it again, or something worse? What makes you think I’m not some kind of mass murderer, or serial killer?” Jean brandished his spoon half heartedly as he spoke, leaning backwards, his other arm crossed definitively over his chest.

Marco’s eyes widened, if that was even possible, and he flushed again. “Well I don’t really think you’re a murderer. You just don’t really seem the type.  
            “What? The I’m-gonna-kill-you-in-your-sleep vibe? Because you know, they never do… That’s why they’re killers Freckles.” He was now leaning forward, eyebrows raised skeptically at the freckled teen. Their faces were so close; he could feel Marco’s soft breath as he frowned, huffing in frustration.

“I know that! I just mean, I don’t know! I feel like I can trust you. Isn’t that enough of an explanation? Or do you want me to write you an essay?”

Jean blinked in surprise at the outburst. Who knew little Marco actually had it in him. He had the guy pegged all wrong.

Marco lowered his gaze again, retreating a little. “Sorry. That was…”  
            “No!” Jean cut in, nearly slamming his hands on the varnished wooden table. “Don’t apologize! I was starting to wonder if you were actually human or some kind of polite android!” He wasn’t sure why, but he was laughing now. “Listen, I don’t really get why you’re so convinced I’m a trustworthy guy. But I’d have to be pretty damned stupid if I didn’t take you up on your offer.” He flashed Marco a grin. “I just had to make sure _you_ weren’t some kind of crazy serial killer. And with that nice guy act of yours going on I couldn’t be entirely convinced.”

“-Wha?” Marco looked completely baffled as Jean tried to reign in his laugher. It felt as that knot in his stomach was loosening up and he was starting to feel, well, relived.

“But, now that I’ve come to the conclusion that you are, in fact, somewhat sane. Marco, consider your offer accepted.” Jean crossed his arms over his chest, grinning widely. This winter was going to be very interesting.

Marco’s face seemed to contort through a series of emotions as he registered Jean’s last sentence, finally arriving at a smile that was practically glowing with excitement. “Really?” He beamed, a little to cutely for someone his own age. Jean had no idea how he managed to be so easily, and honestly, expressive all the time.

Suddenly aware of his own lack of readability, Jean rubbed the back of his neck, feeling it grow warm again. “Yeah man. I’d really appreciate it. “ He murmured, glancing back at the still smiling bruentte happily sipping his mug of, now, lukewarm coffee.  “I still think you’re fucking crazy though….” He added for good measure, watching with satisfaction as the boy’s smile faltered, causing him to choke on a mouthful of bitter coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh what good is it to live with nothing left to give  
> Forget but not forgive, not loving all you see  
> Oh the streets you're walking on a thousand houses long  
> Well that's where I belong and you belong with me
> 
> \--
> 
> Mmm little Marco is far too forgiving isn't he? Jean's a lucky guy.   
> And yeah, that coffee shop actually exists. it's a beautiful place. :)


	5. Gravity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thomas is an asshole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby  
> It's been a long time coming  
> Such a long, long time  
> And I can't stop running  
> Such a long, long time  
> Can you hear my heart beating?  
> Can you hear that sound?  
> 'Cause I can't help thinking  
> And I won't stop now

 

The door swung open as two frozen boys piled into a pleasantly warm, and quiet, apartment. The air seemed still in the small room as they swept into its soothing warmth. The chill had begun to set in, and it was only a matter of time before the flurries that swept the street became thick and heavy with snow, blanketing the quiet town overnight like a heavy winter quilt. “D-damn, it’s fucking freezing out there.” Jean shivered, rubbing his hands together vigorously as Marco quickly shut the door, barring the icy wind from the room and locking the heat in.

Marco sighed and ran a chilled hand through his hair. Everything was cold. “Yeah, if this keeps up, we may end up living in a city made of ice.” He laughed quietly to himself, the image of the little bakery floating to mind, sitting in the quiet street, completely covered in clear frozen glass. “I don’t know if I would really mind that though, at least then I’d get some time off” Glancing at Jean, still passionately trying to warm his frozen fingers. Marco smiled and handed him the pair of gloves he had been wearing.

With a thankful grunt, Jean shoved his hands into their wooly interior and strode his way over to the couch, immediately flopping down unceremoniously into its yellow corduroy cushions. The teen gave out a satisfied sigh and curled into a ball, seemingly intent on expelling the chill simply by willing it away.

Marco watched with a smile and shrugged off his jacket. Making to hang it up on a brass hook behind the wooden door. Catching the collar on a brass hook, he paused, eyes catching sight of Jean, carefully eyeing the letters etched boldly on the back of his jacket.

The teen crooked his head to the side, jerkily, motioning towards the coat, still held lightly in Marco’s cool- but slowly thawing- hands. “Is it supposed to be some kind of joke or something?” Jean asked, eyes flicking with interest from the freckled teen to said blue letterman.

Marco hummed thoughtfully and glanced back at the jacket, throwing it over the hangar completely. The letterman hung loosely on the hook. “What do you mean?”

“That.” The teen gestured vaguely, this time with his gloved hand, at the now hanging letterman. “It’s not your last name. Your ID says Bodt. So, what does it mean?”

Looking to where Jean’s gaze was directed, Marco’s eyes widened and he let out a little breathy laugh. “Oh that!” He felt his cheeks burn as he realized the subject of Jean’s questioning and shoved his hands in the pockets of his hoodie nervously. “An old friend gave it to me a long time ago.” Glancing at the ground, he shrugged nonchalantly and headed into the kitchen to put on some tea. “It ended up at my place one night…” At this Marco trailed off thoughtfully, not sure how much he actually wanted to reveal to the two-tone haired youth now situated on his couch. “Anyways, I guess I just never thought to give it back.” Shoving the kettle under the running tap as he spoke, Marco subtly chanced a glance back to Jean. The teen was watching him closely, amber eyes trained towards his face and it made Marco nervous. Although there really wasn’t anything to hide, talking about this with Jean was verging on awkward, a situation, Marco was sure, neither wanted to broach. Especially given the day’s already accumulated conglomeration of events thus far. “I don’t think he minds though.” Shutting the tap water off with a sigh he returned, the kettle to its place on the stove, switching the pilot to “ON”. Marco leaned against the counter and directed his gaze back towards the other boy.

Jean blinked owlishly before quickly huddling back into to the sofa, slouching his shoulders and slipping down so all Marco could see was the top of his straw-colored hair. “Belonged to your ex or something?” The question floated up, almost hesitantly. He noticed Jean crossing his arms over his chest and slouching even further into the couch, nearly disappearing into it’s cushiony interior.

Marco raised his eyebrows, eyes widening in surprise. If he were crazy, he would have said Jean sounded… Jealous… poorly restrained behind feigned indifference, but jealous, none the less “Well… yeah…” He glanced warily at the ground, kicking at some invisible dust, unable to make eye contact with his brash houseguest.

“Oh… really?”  Came Jean’s voice, cutting through the silence that had befallen the two after a few tense seconds.

Eyes flitting back up to the other, Marco nodded feebly, unsure of what he had expected. Then, realizing Jean had all but disappeared, now nestled rather snugly on his cord sofa, he opened his mouth, thinking for a moment before he spoke again. ”We’re still friends though. So, it just never really occurred to me…”

Jean frowned, sitting up straight to watch Marco as he squirmed uncomfortably by the kitchen counter. “Isn’t that awkward?”

His question caught Marco completely off guard and he shot Jean a confused look before turning quickly to check on the still-warming kettle. “Why would it be awkward? We were friends before, I don’t see why it can’t go back to being that way.” He let out a little laugh, feeling the tension in the room slowly ebbing out reverting to the usual- unusual- comfort he felt towards the other boy.

Jean shifted and flopped back down, legs idly slung over the opposite arm of the couch. “I donno… I mean, after being, that way, with someone. How could you ever see them any differently?”

Marco turned to look at the now lounging teen curiously, wondering if the question was actually directed towards him, or more a stray thought voiced unconsciously. “I suppose it depends on the relationship you had.” The freckled teen murmured thoughtfully, pulling his gaze from the distracted boy on his living room sofa. He reached up into a cupboard on his left and retrieved two mismatched coffee mugs. Setting their smooth porcelain on the laminate countertop with a soft clinking sound, reverberating in the warmly lit kitchenette. “I’m making us some tea to warm up, do you have any preference?”

“- Mmm.” came a distant reply as Marco heard Jean shift once again, the faint rustle of his layered jackets shifting as he moved. “Not really.”

Taking this as Jean’s listless assent towards warm leaf-water, Marco hummed lightly and tossed some peppermint teabags into the steaming water. He wasn’t sure why, but something about the disheveled teen made Marco want to be around him. It wasn’t even a motherly protective instinct, which he would usually chalk all his social misgivings up to. Jean carried a sort of nostalgic warmth with him. Marco felt it every time he was near the other boy. Something curled at the back of his mind, pushing him towards the other in an indescribable fervor, which he could only identify as a sort of melancholic yearning.  It was as if a voice form his past were whispering, every time he found the other, coaxing him to saty by his side, hold onto him with everything he had. It almost scared Marco, how intensely these emotions hit him at times. Washing over him abruptly and without warning, as if he were drowning in a sea of his own blurred memories, from a life he never lived.

Jean let out a little sigh; startling Marco from his thoughts and pulling him back to the present. “It’s fucking cold.” The teen shivered, pushing his hands, still wrapped in Marco’s woolen gloves, under his armpits and folding his legs beneath him, he reminded Marco of an adorable sulking toddler.

“This might help.” Crossing the kitchen, Marco held a steaming mug of tea out to the other, who hastily snatched it from his hands and held it to his face. Jean let out a thankful hum as he inhaled the steam, letting it warm the tip of his frozen nose.  Marco watched him for a moment; a small smile crept to Jean’s lips as he felt the steam evaporating onto his skin. His eyes were closed and he was contentedly reveling in the warmth radiating off of the small mug. Jean’s eyelashes cast shadows across his pale cheeks, still flushed from the biting cold, his sharp nose and acute jaw line creating a stark contrast in the incandescent light, as it fell across his features, casting them in a soft muted glow. Marco’s eyes trailed from his fingers down his arms, concealed beneath heavy layers of rumpled fabric. Blinking abruptly, the brunette jerked his gaze upward, ‘ _what was he doing?’_ Marco quickly edged to the other side of the couch and gave Jean’s outstretched legs a soft nudge. Jean glanced up nonchalantly, acknowledging Marco’s request and obligingly shifting them to the side for Marco to sit. He then, quickly deposited them on to Marco’s lap with cool indifference as soon as the freckled teen had settled down, returning to reveling in the warmth that was his coffee mug.

Marco watched him for a hesitant moment, reluctant to break the comfortable lull that had languidly settled between the two. “Jean…” Marco looked down at his own mug now, rubbing the back of his neck nervously as he spoke. “I wanted to ask you… you don’t have to answer, it’s okay. But… How did you end up living on the streets?” Feeling the other’s gaze on him, Marco refused to raise his eyes, sure that he had overstepped a boundary they had so painstakingly resurrected in the last few minutes.

“My parents kicked me out.” He replied slowly, after a few beats of silence.  “It was kind of my own fault. I made a stupid mistake and paid for it.”

“Yeah,” Marco breathed, “You mentioned that before.” He raised his eyes to meet Jean’s. “What did you do?”

The boy ducked his head, seemingly thinking over the best possible way to explain his situation. “I said some things…” He paused, taking a shaky breath. There was obviously more to the story than Jean was letting on. “I thought that I was making the right decision, that the outcome wouldn’t have blown up in my face like it did.” He let out a self-depreciating laugh as he spoke, grip tightening around the porcelain mug. “I fucked up because I got fucked. I made a promise with someone and they threw it back in my face.” His voice cracked and Marco thought he heard a whimper as he kept his eyes trained on the other’s lowered head. Jean’s voice was thin and shaky as he continued to speak. “We made an agreement. I was so fucking stupid. And when I showed up-“ He shook his head his posture, slouched in on himself, looked so small to Marco just then. It took everything he had not to scoop the other boy up and squeeze the life out of him, squeeze him until all the sadness and hurt just fell away, and he stopped shaking like that.

Marco swallowed thickly “What did you say to them? Your parents, I mean…” He paused; glancing down at his mug of rapidly cooling peppermint, was he asking too much? “I just can’t imagine what you could say that would make your own family throw you out on the streets.”

Jean let out another contemptuous laugh and sighed, subtly wiping his eyes with the back of his gloved hand as he looked away, shielding his face as best he could by angling his head and hiding behind his beanie. He slowly pulled his legs back to his side of the couch and huddled into the armrest defensively. “There was this guy, at school, Thomas.” Marco could hear something in his voice, deep and verging on anger, the sadness behind it hiding beneath a thinly veiled attempt at neutrality. There was a heavy thickness to his words, bleeding through each syllable like thick sludge of a wound never fully healed. “We had a… thing. I don’t know what it was.” Jean’s voice was so heavy and unreachable; it sounded to Marco as if he were speaking through a bottle. He took another countless shaky breath and cleared his throat, his face pulling down into a rather forced scowl. “If you asked me then I would have probably called it love.” Another bitter laugh, his features contorting for a brief moment before returning to normal. “Anyway, we agreed that we’d come out together… And tell everybody, our parents too, at the same time. I knew my parents wouldn’t accept me after that… Mostly because they’re just general pretentious douche bags, so-” He paused again, recollecting himself as he took a few staggered breaths. He looked up at Marco this time, eyes looking a little brighter and strained than usual, he could see some moisture collecting on his bottom lids and Jean quickly looked away again. Face skewed behind a messy fringe of dirty brown he pretended to rub his nose, Marco could tell he was struggling to explain, simply by remembering. His voice picked up again. “When I got there- after I told them. When I went to stay with Thomas- he showed up at the door…” Jean’s expression turned hard, his stare boring holes into the cushions. “I had all my shit there with me, we talked about it that afternoon so I packed and went over… But he just said I couldn’t stay there.” He swallowed what looked to have been a sob and Marco wished he would just let it out. “Suddenly everything we had talked about wasn’t real, and he said that he changed his mind. He said he couldn’t do it now and told me to leave, go back home or something...” His hands were shaking harder now. Marco could see the gradual transition as Jean’s posture became more defensive, more enraged. “So I fucking left. I left my shit on his doorstep and just walked the fuck away.” Jean’s voice had turned hard and cold. Marco watched as he blinked away angry tears, quickly rubbing at the corners of his eyes and casting his gaze to the side bitterly. “I couldn’t go home after that. Thomas was my only fallback and he fucking bailed. What else was I supposed to do?” He angrily pulled off his beanie and ran a shaking hand through his hair exhaling unevenly and looking around the room, anywhere but directly at Marco. His amber eyes flitted a little too enthusiastically over Marco’s things, almost as if her were looking for something to hold onto. “My parents cut off my bank account after that, so I couldn’t even use my cards. All I had was 20 dollars from a freaking movie we were supposed to go and see. I was shit broke and stuck in the middle of Trost with no friends, no family, and nowhere to sleep.” His eyes finally met Marco’s; he looked so angry, and exhausted. The bags under his eyes stood out in the light, and Marco wondered if they had always been there.

Marco pondered how he didn’t notice just how much smaller Jean was before then. Here he was, sitting on his couch, one hand still clutching the lukewarm mug of peppermint tea. His face was flushed pink, cheeks splotchy, sporting an uneven scowl Marco was glad wasn’t directed towards him. Jean’s thin frame seemed meek under all those layers of clothing, but he was breathing hard, radiating a forced façade of spiteful infuriation to anybody that dared come near. And Marco could tell, by the way he his held his arms close, that he was still freezing cold.

Chewing nervously on his bottom lip, Marco placed his mug carefully on the table, the glass making a soft ‘thunk’ as it lightly hit the aged oak surface. He then shuffled closer and pulled Jean into a tight hug, arms wrapping protectively around the other as he felt the boy’s thin frame only slightly resist the pull. “Well, you’ve got me…” He murmured softly into the worn fabric covering Jean’s shoulder. “I’m your friend, and I’m not going anywhere.” He thought he heard Jean’s breath hitch as he spoke, still tense as Marco buried his face in his shoulder, hoping his warmth would somehow seep into the other boy if he just held on long enough.

Hesitantly, Jean took another shaky breath, albeit more controlled then the ones before. “You know, you’re really a giant dork.” He laughed unevenly, choking a little on the pressure building in his chest. Marco felt Jean’s form relax into his own and he tightened his grip a little. Trying to assure the other that he was dead set on going nowhere until Jean wanted him off.

“I never said I wasn’t.” He laughed faintly. Feeling Jean smile against his shoulder as he straightened a little, allowing him to lean more comfortably into his chest.

“Hmmm-“ Was the only answer he got as Jean slid down a little, bringing his arms around Marco’s waist.  Minutes stretched as the two sat there, both feeling lighter with the weight of the conversation slowly dissipating into a mutual sort of fatigue. It had been a long day. Emotions slowly settled as the soft ‘tick-tock’ of the clock on the wall filled the room, calmly swelling into the easy silence that had fallen between the two.

 

“Jean…?”

_Silence_

“Hey, lazy, are you asleep?”

_Silence_

Marco ducked his head to get a better look at the still teen laying on his chest. His eyes were closed and he was wearing as close to a neutral expression as his face would probably ever get, Marco speculated with palpable amusement. His eyebrows were forming an angry curve, mouth down turned in a slight scowl, Marco chuckled at the sight, it was adorable. “You even look grumpy when you’re sleeping.” Jean’s breaths came out in relaxed, even, puffs and Marco assumed that it (hopefully) meant he was having good dreams. Watching patiently, Marco knew that, in order to get some sleep of his own, he would have to move the slumbering boy. He hesitantly tried shifting away, only to elicit a small grumble from the other, as Jean’s arms tightened their grip around his torso, pulling him closer and causing Marco’s breath to catch in his chest. Laughing shallowly, Marco settled back into he previous spot, sleeping might not be that hard here, besides, Jean looked really comfortable. Leaning over a little to rescue a blanket from the floor. Fluidly, he tossed it over the two, the fabric floating evenly overtop their intertwined forms. Scooting down a bit into the sofa to get more comfortable, Marco peered at the other boy, blissfully passed out and drooling a little onto Marco’s t-shirt. At least he looked warm. Jean flinched a little in his sleep and his eyelids fluttered actively, alluding to the dreaming he was sure Jean was doing. The ticking clock alerted Marco of the late hour, as he chanced a glance its way, letting out a restrained yawn as he eyed the time. He had to be at work in five hours. Shrugging his shoulder up a little, Marco nestled his head between the cushion and his arm, strands of Jean’s dirty brown hair ticking his cheek as the calm silence lulled him into a warm, deep, sleep. ‘ _Good night Jean.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby  
> When your wheels stop turning  
> And you feel let down  
> And it seems like troubles  
> Have come all around  
> I can hear your heart beating  
> I can hear that sound  
> But I can't help thinking  
> And I won't look now
> 
> \---
> 
>  
> 
> Did you cry?  
> Probably not... My writing's not very good.  
> There was supposed to be so much more in this chapter, but Jean   
> is a whiny baby who took up too many pages with his sad little life.


	6. We Never Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they go on a non-date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to fly  
> And never come down  
> And live my life  
> And have friends around

“Beep Beep Beep Beep-“

His eyes felt heavy, as dim light assaulted his brain. Squinting in annoyance, Jean shifted uncomfortably, elbow jutting sharply into his lumpy makeshift pillow. Surprisingly Jean felt his joint hit skin and bone, instead of soft cotton, with a sickening sort of knocking sound.

Marco let out a sharp gasp and he lashed out, whacking the other across the cheek with his forearm. 

Jean flew backwards, hissing as he clapped a hand over his cheekbone. Apparently they had fallen asleep on the couch. 

“Owww.” Marco moaned, as he threw the arm that had only moments ago assaulted Jean, over his eyes in distress, rubbing his side with the other. “-mmmm, why-“ He yawned “Why’d you have to do that?” Marco stretched a little, arching his back and rubbing his face, voice still murky with sleep as he reached over and shut the alarm off. His hair was an utter mess, pointing haphazardly in every direction at once, the back sticking straight up, evidence of his sleep on the couch. 

If jean could venture a guess, he would assume his own hair mirrored the other boy’s current style rather embarrassingly. Swiping his beanie from off of the floor, Jean tugged it on, feeling slightly self-conscious for a reason beyond explanation. 

Marco was rubbing his eyes like a child when Jean looked back at the boy. His shirt was rumpled, and Jean realized with some horror, that he had been drooling on the taller boy’s chest.

Marco ran a hand over his face, groaning unintelligibly. Peeking through his fingers at Jean, the freckled brunette raised an eyebrow curiously, deterring the other boy’s staring “Can I help you with something?”

Jean scowled and rolled his eyes. “Did you sleep out here?”

Marco hummed thoughtfully and smiled. He threw his arms behind the couch and stretched again, reminding Jean of a cat. He couldn’t help but watch the way Marco's back arched when he did that, his torso creating a smooth tapered curve from chest to hips under his thin t-shirt. Jean’s eyes trailed down his form slowly, feeling a slight tingling between his- God dammit! 

Marco sat up straight again and sighed, “Yes, Jean, I did. Why else would I still be here?” He was smiling, expression lighting up his face, and seeming far too cheerful for somebody at who-knows-what ungodly hour in the morning. And his hair was stupid.

“Why?” Was about all Jean could get out while twisting uncomfortably in place. Trying to hide an awkward boner was not the first impression he wanted to leave the other with first thing in the morning. 

Marco looked confused at the question, blinking several times and tilting his head to the side. He opened and closed his mouth, resembling a fish Jean had seen once, before humming softly and glancing up at the ceiling. “You looked really comfortable.” He reasoned, big brown eyes landing back on Jean, whose scowl was still fitted in place. “I didn’t have the heart to move you.” He voiced this as if his actions were, naturally, the obvious option. 

Jean just stared. 

Shrugging, Marco got to his feet and padded into the bedroom, door closing quickly behind him. “I have to be at work in a couple hours, but do you want to get coffee or something before then?” His muffled voice floated from behind the door as Jean continued to stare at the empty spot where Marco had been. 

_‘Is this guy for real?’_ Feeling his face flush slightly, Jean rubbed the back of his neck and cast his gaze downward. “Uh, coffee sounds fine.” 

“Okay.”

_‘What the hell is wrong with you?’_ Jean shook his head unsure of whether that question was directed to himself or the boy in the next room. Expelling the fuzzy feeling growing in his chest at a rather unnerving rate, Jean rose to his feet and shut himself in the bathroom, leaning heavily against the white washed door. Running a hand over his face, he let out a long sigh. In the last three days, he had been fed pizza, and given a place to stay. He’d been arrested and subsequently rescued by his victim, and now he was having coffee with him like it was a regular every day thing, after falling asleep together because he fucking cried? For some reason, Jean felt a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. As much as he thought this whole situation completely psychotic, he had to admit, it was kind of nice having the freckled baker boy look after him, if he were to call it that. The idea that somebody actually gave a damn, and noticed if he ate or not was, in it’s own way, exciting. It also helped that his new roommate was fucking adorable, because as much as Jean wanted to deny the fact, he had to admit that, yeah, that freckled idiot was really damn cute. Glancing down, Jean was quickly reminded of his more immediate situation, clearly, in apparent need of attention. _‘Can you be a little bit creepier Kirschtein?’_ Sighing, he squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to think of something, anything, other then the boy changing in the room next door. _‘Why me?’_

 

* * *

 

Apparently Marco had a thing for embarrassingly trendy coffee shops and restaurants as Jean found himself, seated in a charmingly mismatched diner. 

The walls were covered in weird murals over old wood planks, chairs and tables, all matching this time, wooden and squeaky, just like the floorboards. The windows were adorned in warm stained glass, filtering the outside light in gentle hues of oranges and yellows. Trailing his eyes upwards, he noticed that the ceiling had been netted; leaving space for a rather impressive hanging garden that covered the entirety of said little restaurant. The room was crowded though, bustling with the busy morning throng of office workers, eager to get their free-range, organic, breakfast and coffee before the day began. People shuffled at the counter, restlessly waiting for their takeout to hit the pass so they could go on their way. The busy waitresses were running from table to table, depositing assorted plates heaped with, what looked to Jean like, piles of rabbit food. The restaurant was loud, which did nothing to placate him either. Turning his attention back to the table, Marco sitting idly across from him, reading over the extensive menu, Jean couldn’t help but feel ridiculously out of place. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Large brown eyes were peering at him over the brown paper bag menu Marco had propped in front of himself, seemingly abandoning all use of his hands to hold the thing up. 

Jean smirked; it baffled him how the brunette got away with acting so fucking cute all the time. “How do you find these places Marco? I mean, Jesus, it looks like all of Burning Man got up and left the desert specifically to relocate itself in this place.” He stated making his point by motioning vaguely towards a group seated at the table next to them. The occupants were decked out in dread locks, tribal tattoos, cotton scarves, and yoga pants, reminiscent of that old French movie The Green Beautiful. 

Marco’s eyes just grew wide, following the now indistinct gesture towards the group. Upon assessing them, he quickly snapped his gaze back on Jean. Glancing back at the menu wall he had so artfully constructed for a moment, Marco looked back again. Finally meeting Jean’s eyes and mouthing a bewildered “oh my god.” 

Jean smirked as he watched the brunette try to conceal a smile, turning his eyes down to examine his own mess of a menu. “What the fuck is a Mystical Mandala Pizza anyways?” He groused, after a few moments of careful scrutiny. “Nothing on this menu makes any sense. And how the hell am I supposed to know who Hunab Ku is, and why I’d want his Hummus in my mouth?” 

Hearing a stifled giggle, Jean looked up, watching with slight amusement as Marco fought to control his laughter, shoulders shaking as he ducked behind his menu barricade. “I know.” He finally breathed, head appearing once again from behind the wall. “The names are silly…” The brunette glanced down at their table for a moment, his eyes glinting mischievously, before returning to meet Jeans. “Just roll with it.” Throwing Jean a lighthearted smile, Marco pulled off a piece of the complimentary “sprouted seed” bread they had been given and tossed it at Jean’s head. Bursting into another fit of hysterical giggles. “Get it? ROLLS? PPpppppfff…” That was about all he could apparently handle and Marco was gone again, silent laughing behind his menu, shoulders shaking with the exertion.

Jean fought a smile of his own as he watched the other boy struggle, absentmindedly tearing at the piece of bread that had been so thoughtfully bequeathed upon him for the sake of a bad bread pun. “I have to make a note, you’re not allowed out of the house until you’ve had something to eat.” 

Finally calming himself down enough to breathe, Marco sat up again, tears glistening in his eyes and he wiped at them with his sleeve. “Probably not.” He let out another little chuckle and collapsed the menu-barrier, the Restaurant’s name “Maria” printed boldly across the front, falling flat on the table. “Sorry.” He flashed another toothy smile and glanced towards the counter. “Have you decided what you want though?”

Jean blinked, having completely forgotten to read the menu, in light of Marco’s discernable breakdown. Glancing blankly down at the agglomeration of words on paper he managed a dull shrug. “Fuck man, I don’t even know what half this shit is.”

At this Marco grinned, and shook his head, “Don’t worry about it then, I’ll order for you.” He raised his hand waving down a server to take their order.

 

By the time their food arrived Jean was starving and he immediately tore into the pile of food that had been so generously placed in front of him. Pausing for a moment after a few mouthfuls, he noticed Marco staring, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “What?” 

“I just thought you’d be a little more affected by the contents of your breakfast then you apparently are.” Came Marco’s gleeful reply, the smile growing into an amused grin. 

Slowly, directing his attention to the food on his plate, Jean thoughtfully chewed a few times and swallowed, making no hint as to what he was actually feeling. The food was good, actually. He had to admit it tasted pretty damn okay. But looking at it now, his eyes would object to agree. 

What looked to be something vaguely resembling scrambled eggs was piled in the middle of his plate while big shoots and curls of something green and vegetal comfortably nestled on top of the concoction. It was surrounded by, what Jean would venture to guess was guacamole, and some off white seedy puree, all zig-zagged across with a white mayonnaise-looking sauce-thing. There was toast there too. 

“What the hell is this?” He finally voiced, after a few moments of anticipated silence from Marco’s end.

Marco laughed lightly and poked at his own plate. “I didn’t want to tell you, in case you would start complaining when I brought you here. But everything is actually Vegan, that’s a tofu scramble you’re so gracefully tearing into.” 

Jean straightened up a little, taking restock of the weird, yet beautifully presented, assortment of fuck-knows-what staring back from his plate. He poked at it lightly with his fork and tentatively took another bite. “Well it’s not fucking awful.” He replied after a moment of deliberate silence. He wouldn’t have admitted it, but it was actually pretty damn delicious, and it’s not like he was really a picky eater to begin with. 

Jean had seen his fair share of diet fads and food trends sweep through his own household on almost a daily basis, what, with his obsessively conceited mother running the joint. He could remember a time when all their family had eaten was fucking popcorn. No butter, no salt. His mother had explicitly explained to the cook that the “popcorn regime” as she liked to call it, was the only surefire way to maintain her star-like physique. Of course, this has earned a string of French curses from the fiery male chef, who prattled away for over an hour afterwards about how he was better than that and his mother could kindly “Va te faire enculer.” Which translated roughly to “go fuck yourself.” He kept his job, Jean never did figure out why. Although he had a sneaking suspicion that the red welts underneath the collar of his crisp, clean, whites had something to do with it.

Marco brightened considerably at Jean’s aforementioned approval of the fare and took a bite of his own confusing concoction. “Whenever I bring people here they get really weird about it.” The brunette explained lightly. “I think the word Vegan kind of scares them away. But a friend of mine owns this place, and I thought you might like it…” Trailing off, the brunette punctuated with a short laugh and took a hearty sip of- what Jean would now and forevermore refer to as- Flower Child Lifeblood; it was probably just distilled spring water. Marco was turning out to be, contrary to first impression, a little bit of an underhanded bastard.  

Jean was surprised at the innocent way in which this seemingly ‘freckled angel’ seemed to utilize his ability of deception. “Whatever dude. As long as it’s food, I’m not too picky.” He then shrugged and, as if to prove the statement, took another huge bite of his herbivorous breakfast. Probably a little too huge, because mere moments later he was coughing heavily, having choked on a piece of the vegetable matter. He pounded on his chest and hastily took a swig from the crystalline bohemian brew of natural earth minerals in his glass. “So, how old are you anyway?” Jean asked, trying to distract the other from his temporary lapse of composure. 

Marco smiled around a mouthful of food and shook his head while he swallowed. “I’m nineteen, actually. How about you?” He peered over at Jean curiously.

“-m’18”  Jean replied casually, leaning his chair back precariously so the squeaky wood was left to balance on two legs. He chewed at a mouthful of toast as he spoke, at least that was recognizable.

Marco’s eyebrows rose attentively. “So you dropped out of school?”

Nodding, Jean cast his gaze to the table, willing the painful memories to the back of his subconscious, to be dealt with later. “Yeah, I was just about half way through when all that shit happened.” Recalling the incident made Jean’s stomach do a horrible flip-flop that he didn’t want to think about. He waved his fork, as if the action would dispel any further unease and settled the chair back on all legs with a hefty ‘thunk.’

Marco chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully; he looked as if he were thinking, with rather impressive commitment, about the information Jean had now inclined to him. “So then, do you want to go back? To finish school, I mean…” 

Jean startled. To he honest, that wasn’t even a question he had asked himself. It seemed like such impossibility, that the teen hadn’t even once regarded his return to school as an option. “I-I don’t know man. I mean, maybe. One day…” He fumbled, distracting himself with a sip from his glass of harmonious angel tears. 

At this, Marco just smiled and returned to his meal. The two fell into a comfortable silence after that, talking lightly about things that didn’t matter and what-if’s that potentially could. 

Jean felt himself growing fonder of the freckled idiot by the day. As weird and over trusting as the guys was, his transparency was something Jean found refreshingly alluring. Marco’s unabashed faith in him was something he had never even felt in himself, and for some reason that gave him hope. He felt that maybe he could grow into that person Marco, for some reason, seemed to believe he was. 

 

* * *

 

It was fucking cold. That was about all the physical stimuli Jean could handle as the two barreled outside, full from breakfast and each toting a steaming cup of something called reishi coffee. Taking a sip of the stuff in attempts to stave off the biting chill, Jean grimaced. Yep, tasted like coffee. 

The wind seemed to cut through his jacket, as the two began a brisk power walk down the dusted sidewalk, snow rising in flurries with the impact of each harried footfall. “So.” Marco puffed, his breath creating little clouds as he breathed into the collar of his jacket; it was too damned cold for that fucking letterman. “I’ve got work, do you need a key to get back inside?”

Keeping his gaze steady and direct, as if the tension would cut through the icy tendrils rapidly snaking their way through his clothing, Jean pulled his lips into a thin line, more from concentration then deliberation. “Probably, yeah.” He cast a sidelong glance at the brunette, feeling the harsh wind sting at his exposed skin. Damn he needed a scarf. “You sure you can trust me not to steal everything inside?” Passing a garbage can, Jean tossed his drink away; he didn’t trust its soothingly bitter aftertaste… It wasn’t caffeine. It was probably evil.

Marco laughed brightly, seemingly un-phased by the abominable temperature in which they had immersed themselves. 

Who laughs when you can hardly feel your face muscles move enough to breathe? Jean was pretty sure his left nostril had already frozen together, and this idiot was laughing? 

“If you take all my stuff, I’ll be really confused.” He turned his head to look at Jean as he spoke, cheeks already turning red. “Besides, that would mean you were stuck out in this.” He looked back to the front again, exhaling shortly. “I don’t think anybody deserves to be out here on a day like today. You included.” Jean felt a light pressure in his side as Marco nudged him playfully, still grinning. Good lord that kid could smile.  “Here.”

Another nudge.

Looking down, Jean saw Marco was holding a silver key in his gloved hand. He took it quickly, hands retreating from the exposed air back into his ineffective shields known as pockets. 

“So, I’ll see you tonight then?” The brunette’s voice was lilting, and Marco playfully waggled his eyebrows at Jean, almost daring him to say no. 

“Jerk. You want me to stay outside.” 

He was acknowledged by the sounds of Marco’s giggle. “I never said that.”

“Your eyes did.”

“You’re imagining things”

“We both know that’s not true”

“Now you’re making things up. I would never…”

“Oh you would freckles! You want everyone to believe that you’re just a sweet innocent Baker boy.” He leaned close, smile breaking across his features, voice lowering to a raspy hiss “But I know your secret.”

Marco’s expression slowly phased from amused surprise to mock malicious intent, or at least, Jean figured, what resembled it. 

Jean was pretty sure if Marco seriously attempted menacing, he would just end up looking like a sassy black woman at best. 

“Well if that’s the case, what could I do that would convince you to keep quiet about my little-“ He paused here, humming thoughtfully as he glanced around the street idly. His voice low and soft when he spoke again, “secret?” Marco had leaned down, lips now pressed into a thin line as the two stared, stock still, having stopped in the middle of the street. 

Standing nose to nose, Jean could make out the occasional flecks of gold in the other boy’s ginormous eyes, the way his freckles spread evenly across the bridge of his slightly rounded nose. He noticed the way Marco had to duck his head just slightly to meet his own stupid squinty eyes, Marco’s breath was warm on his face, they were so close, Jean knew if they stood there like that just a little bit longer, if he shifted any further forward, they would end up- he watched as Marco’s lips finally broke into the smile they had been so diligently trying to hold back. The moment was gone, he was laughing again.

“You huge dork.” Jean smirked, attempting to reign in any and all thoughts of Marco he had apparently just unleashed on his poor unsuspecting hormones. 

The taller boy giggled [again] and rolled his eyes, resuming their direction, but at a slower pace. “Yet for some reason you’re now living with me.”

“What have I gotten myself into?” Jean lamented, throwing his hands into the air dramatically.

“Probably something life threatening, most likely involving slow death by pastry.”

Jean found himself grinning, despite the numbness that had spread over his entire face. Actually, to any onlookers, it probably looked like a weird new interpretation of snarling, what with his lips pressed flat against his teeth like an idiot. Fuck it was cold outside.  “That’s a death I think I can begin to accept. Depending on the pastry. None of those fucking Pain au Chocolate, those little guys look fucking sad.”

He could hear the smile in Marco’s voice. “Hey, leave those poor depressed pastries alone. It’s not their fault they look the way they do.”

Jean scoffed. “Well excuse me princess! I don’t want some depressing ass lard muffin in my stomach if I’m gonna be dying from it.”

“Insensitive.”

“I only speak the truth.”

“…”

“What?”

“…”

“Marco, what?”

“Pff…”

“Seriously dude…”

“Lard muffin.”

“Shut the hell up.” Jean smirked, elbowing Marco in the ribs.

Marco squirmed away with a shout of half hearted objection before quickly falling back in stride beside Jean. 

Settling into a comfortable silence, the two pressed on a couple more blocks, the sounds of their shoes muffled by the white powder under their feet.

Marco slowed after a few more moments of walking. 

Snowflakes hung in the air like stars on strings, and it was almost impossible to ignore their melancholy dance as they fluttered to the ground silently. 

“Hey, Jean." The brunette's voice was quiet, floating through the wind in that same carefree manner as the snowflakes fluttering around them. "Thanks.”

Jean blinked, looking over at the freckled teenager. “For what?”

“Just.” Marco shrugged, hands buried deep in his pockets, eyes cast downwards in thought. “I don’t know.” He lifted his gaze, eyes falling on Jean. “For being around, I guess… I really like you- this!” His eyes grew wide and he ducked his head again, suddenly very interested in the pavement.

Jean felt himself blushing, despite the cold. His face was heating up at an alarmingly fast pace “Uh… thanks Marco… I think.” 

“Ah- anyway, I gotta hurry or I’m gonna be late, I’ll see you tonight okay? Maybe we can watch a movie or something? I’ll see you Jean… bye.” 

And with that Marco was gone, leaving Jean to stand in the snow alone. Feeling a lot warmer then he should have in the middle of winter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I want to live in a wooden house  
> Making more friends would be easy  
> I want to live where the sun comes out
> 
> \----
> 
> So, this restaurant scene was pretty much me making fun of my old place of employment. I used to work as a Sous Chef in one of those hippie raw food cafe's that made too much money off of overpriced sandwiches and water. As you can see, there is still some lingering resentment. Although I think it's sort of wavered into amused distain at this point. Especially compared to where it used to be.  
> Enough of me rambling though... More fluff.  
> You will all drown in fluff by the time the plot is entirely developed. *sniffs dramatically* I just want them to be happy!  
> (I do have a [Tumblr](http://jellyfishsempai.tumblr.com/), by the way. You can find me there if you're so inclined)


	7. Sparks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Zooey Deschanel is herself, Careless Whisper may or may not be referenced and Jean finds himself falling, hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But I promise you this,  
> I'll always look out for you,  
> That's what I'll do.  
> My heart is yours,  
> It's you that I hold on to,  
> That's what I do,  
> And I know I was wrong,  
> But I won't let you down,

“I don’t really care how much this guy likes her. She’s a fucking bitch!” Jean vehemently objected, motioning violently towards the screen in frustration. 

Marco remained silent, watching the teen’s frustration with mild amusement as the two sat side by side on Marco’s, now very familiar, sofa. Sticking his spoon into the pot between them, he retrieved a spoonful of cheesy Kraft Dinner and stuck it in his mouth. The two had been marathoning movies since Marco got home, stopping only briefly to hastily make a pot of admittedly shitty, instant macaroni. As the brunette chewed thoughtfully on his pasta, he continued to listen to Jean rant, a smile playing on his lips while the other boy prattled off a list of reasons why the main character was, in his words, a “fucking idiot.” 

Turning his attention back to the old tube T.V, Marco realizes that the credits had begun rolling, and probably had been for some time. As melancholy symphony music floated through the speakers, Marco took a moment to take in the sound of the other’s voice. Jean was still prattling on about the movie. Ranting about it’s poorly constructed ending or something. His voice rose throughout the room, mingling with the deep tunes of a piano playing from the T.V, and Marco found the contrast relatively ridiculous.

“-Not to mention that she didn’t even give a fuck when he got punched in the face.” Jean slammed his fork into the pot fiercely. “FOR HER!”

“Is this hitting a little too close to home for you Jean?” Marco said fighting down a smile he knew would piss Jean off. His brown eyes drifted over to the exasperated teen attentively.

“Damn fucking straight it is. And it’s not like I give a shit, but seriously…” He trailed off with an exasperated huff and shoved a glob of cheesy noodles into his mouth, scowling fiercely. 

“Ookay, note for next time then.” Marco reached over to the coffee table, picking up the abandoned remote, and flicked the volume to MUTE. “Zooey Deschanel, not a good option when watching movies with a heartbroken high school drop out.” Leaning back into the couch, he noticed Jean was still pouting. Marco’s expression fell. “What? Are you seriously that butt hurt about a movie?”

Casting a sideways glance towards the freckled brunette, Jean let out a sound that could only be described as a hormonal teenager’s passive aggressive scoff, and rolled his eyes. “No.”

“You dork!” Marco was beaming over their pot of noodles again. 

“Shut up Marco. I’m not.” 

Marco giggled and shifted slightly on the couch, nudging the other boy’s leg with his right foot. “Yes you are, you baby. It’s just a movie.” He prodded him again, earning a disgruntled shove back. “You know, fiction?” 

“Whatever. Hey- Would you stop?!” 

Marco had been repeatedly poking Jean, his gentle prods growing even more frequent the longer he sulked. 

“What the hell!” Jean groused, swatting at the offending extremity with his hands.

Marco pulled his foot away quickly, crossing it under his other leg, beaming smugly.

“Is this the way you treat all your houseguests Bodt?” It was Jean’s turn to take the offensive, reaching across and socking the guy in the arm. He received a muffled grunt as Marco pulled his long legs up in attempt to shield the assault. 

“Hey! I made you pasta! Don’t complain!” Was Marco’s response, as he shielded himself from an onslaught of half-hearted punches. Throwing his legs out again, he started vaguely trying to kick Jean away.

“Kraft Dinner doesn’t count for shit you cheap asshole!” Jean grinned, launching himself over the half empty pot wedged between the two, tackling Marco sideways onto the couch. 

“I-“ Marco was interrupted by a rough grunt as he struggled to free himself from under the other boy. “-didn’t know we were keeping score!” Grabbing a throw pillow from behind his head, he brought it up whacked Jean in the face. 

Jean retaliated by snatching the pillow from Marco’s fingers amidst his second attack and ramming it back into his face.

Marco grabbed his assailant’s wrists and pushed them upwards, causing Jean to tumble forwards, the chests bumping together as Jean’s head landed face down beside his own. “What about all those pastries I brought you, you ungr-“ 

He was talking into a hand, pressed roughly to his face as Jean used it to push himself back up, squashing Marco’s nose in the process, eliciting a pathetic whine of discomfort beneath his palm.

Marco grabbed at Jean’s wrist and tried to move it, only to receive another rough shove in the face. Turning his head to the side, Jean’s hand quickly slipped off, freeing his nose. Before he felt that stupid pillow pummelling his head again.

“Because I seem to remember-” The rest of his sentence was abruptly muffled as he flailed helplessly under Jean’s bony frame.

Jean was leaning heavily on the retrieved pillow, now trying to squash Marco beneath it’s cottony exterior. 

Marco squirmed some more, grabbing at his wrists and flailing his legs in attempt to throw Jean off balance. A few more efforts of escape on Marco’s part ended unsuccessful, before the boy’s form finally went still in caved defeat, his fingers loosening their hold on Jean’s lithe wrists. 

Heart hammering. Marco wash’t sure if it was the wrestling or the contact that was making him feel so flustered. But he was definitely feeling an ever-present blush  that had spread rapidly across his face. Suddenly Marco was quite thankful for the pillow pressed rather painfully into his nose and cheeks. 

He could feel Jean straddling his waist, both boys breathing heavily as the boy above him shifted slightly, causing Marco’s breath to hitch in his chest. 

Jean hummed, moving the pillow marginally, with cautious deliberation. “You alive down there Freckles?” His voice was hesitant and a little breathless, mild amusement tinged in his words.

“Jerk.” Marco shot back, his voice still muffled by the fabric covering most of his face. He was grinning into the pillow, not that Jean could tell. “What if I throw you out for mmmph-“ 

He was being stifled again by the cushy abomination.

“Are you trying to suffocate me?” The brunette gasped, as he struggled to move the pillow out of the way, peering over it’s edge at a rather self-satisfied looking Jean. 

Jean just let out a short laugh in reply and backed off, flopping himself down on the couch, between Marco’s outstretched legs. 

Propping himself up on his elbows, Marco peered warily at the other boy. Jean was still holding the pillow, with no signs of him releasing it any time soon. “I’d feel a lot better if you’d put that down.”

Eyes tracking Marco’s gaze to the offending object in his hands, Jean gave a little huff and hugged it to his chest, grinning like a child. “Not a chance.”

Marco smirked, pushing himself up to sitting and slowly leaning forwards, suddenly shooting out a hand, making an abrupt grab for the pillow huddled in Jean’s arms. 

Hugging it closer to himself, Jean jerked away backwards, Marco’s fingertips barely brushing the sleeve of his hoodie. 

“Oh shit!” 

Marco blinked in confusion, watching as the other teen stiffened, his expression shifting to one of utter dismay. “What?”

 Loosening his grip on the pillow, Jean slowly raised his arm, hesitantly bending it at the elbow his frown only grew wider as he examined the damage. Jean was grimacing at his sleeve, now covered in the final remnants of their dinner, cheezy noodles dropping off of his arm with sloppy squelching sounds and landing somewhere at his side. Marco tried his best not to laugh as he observed the rather disgusted look on the younger boy’s face.

“Oh geez, sorry Marco. I’ll, uh-“ He wiped at the yellow mess, only smearing it further across his sleeve before letting out a defeated sigh and climbing to his feet, muttering something about ‘fucking noodles’.

Marco’s expression didn’t falter as he watched the other boy hastily make a grab for a handful of paper towels in the kitchen, standing on his toes and barely glancing them with each brief lunge. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Truth be told, he had seen a lot worse happen to the old couch then crappy macaroni spills. Standing and crossing the apartment in a few short strides, he stepped up behind the other boy, grabbing the towels for him and placing them in his hands, their fingers brushing as he pulled away. “It happens. That couch has seen better days anyways.” 

He thought he could see a faint blush dusting the other boy’s cheeks before Jean ducked his head, raising an arm to scratch the back of his neck and effectively shielding his face from sight.

“Sure, well… I’ll clean it. Sorry…” Came a mumbled reply from behind Jean’s macaroni stained arm.

Marco blinked, taking in the sight before him, was Jean actually _blushing?_ The freckled brunette took and breath and opened his mouth “Hey Jea-“

He was cut short by a shrill ringing sound that cut through the tension Marco had only just noticed was present. Tentatively closing his mouth, his eyes flicked over to the sound’s origins. A light blue Razr sitting on the coffee table. Shooting Jean an apologetic look, he turned and crossed the room, sweeping the little brick up and flipping it open in one fluid movement.

**1 UNREAD MESSAGE** ran in bold across the screen of his cellphone. **_[Reiner]_**

Marco frowned, hovering his finger over the **READ** button for a moment before opening it.

Reiner: What’s up. Haven’t seen you in a while.

Leave it to the one part of his life he didn’t need Jean knowing about to be texting him out of the blue. Marco noted with muted amusement that the big blonde’s timing wasn’t out of character in the least.

It’s not as if the two weren’t on good terms, in fact it was almost the opposite. Marco and Reiner had attended school together as casual acquaintances long before their history had even begun to take root. Somewhere along the line, the two had gone from being ‘just friends’, to ‘friends with benefits’.

At first, the pair had written it off as some kind of bizarre phase. Having only outed themselves to the other by some accidental (and rather embarrassing) twist of consequence. They had eventually settled into a helpfully convenient routine of “figuring things out”, with the brief assumption that their relations would be short-lived and decidedly temporary. Being that, on more than one occasion, they had discussed their arrangement painstakingly throughly, and come to a unanimous decision that whatever ‘this’ was, would be ending with High School. At least, that had been their intention. 

Marco would admit that, although he was still attached to the stocky blonde in a more intimate way than he would probably deem necessary, their ‘sessions’ and resulting relationship had never been deeply emotionally driven. 

Call it hormones, call it the unavoidable teenaged consequence that happens to every horny 16 year old, somewhere down the road they had ended up in a rather committed relationship. Committed being, a good two year chunk of their adolescent lives. 

Regardless, their relationship didn’t falter much when it came to an end. Having called it off on the basis that ‘first relationships never last.’ They had said a heavily emotional, but platonic, farewell and parted ways, their constant interactions never seeming to take the hint that all was said and done between the pair. Both Reiner and Marco had settled rather easily into the realm of regular friendship, maintaining their steady stream of communication via text, and spending a good portion of their free time together, regardless of their failed attempt at creating distance. It had been one of those weird transitions that Marco could never quite comprehend. As far as the freckled brunette was concerned, Reiner was a close friend, nothing more. The shift had been so sudden, and so utterly credible that his transition between boyfriend and best friend happened almost reflexively. 

Looking back on it now, Marco would have to admit that his feelings for Reiner had never been anything more than friendship, and he was almost positive that Reiner felt the same way.

Hitting the reply button, Marco typed out a quick response and flipped the phone shut, turning his attention back to the now idling teen in his kitchen. 

From the looks of it, Jean had calmed himself down as he was now going through the motions of scrubbing the artificially orange cheese from his sweater. 

“Everything good?” Marco questioned, quickly grabbing the spilled pot and sweeping some fallen noodles off of the worn yellow sofa.

“Yeah man, sorry though. If your couch is ruined I owe you something.” 

Whatever weird tension that was awkwardly hanging between the two previously had been quickly dispelled by Reiner’s text message and Marco regarded it with muted relief. The atmosphere had seemed so surreal at the time, the brunette couldn’t help but wonder just what he could have done during those last moments of physical contact. He figured the outcome would have ranged somewhere between detrimental and mildly unfavourable. Maybe Reiner’s timing wasn’t something worth protesting after all.

His phone gave another shrill whine and Marco flipped it open again, taking note to switch off the volume before reading Reiner’s text.

Reiner: I’ve got problems buddy.

Attached was an image of a rather sleepy looking brunette boy drifting off on Reiner’s shoulder. Even without his unmistakable head in the picture,  he could recognize that broad arm anywhere, a red t-shirt stretched across his frame. That guy had to buy some new clothing, although, Marco would caution a guess that Reiner bought shirts one size too small on purpose.

Marco: I don’t get it. Who is that?

He snapped the phone shut just as Jean drew up beside him, shaking his sleeve as if the motion would make a difference for it’s dismayed state of destitution. 

“I can throw that in the wash again.” Marco replied, eyeing the other boy with nonchalant interest as Jean continued to make a childish fuss over his messy apparel.

Jean just grunted in response and threw the thing over Marco’s kitchen chair, to be dealt with later. 

Marco noted, with subdued trepidation, that having Jean around might  potentially lead to things getting a lot messier. 

Jean had already situated himself back on the couch, sprawling out comfortably and stretching. Casting a questioning glance Marco’s way, he raised and eyebrow. “As much as I’d hate to admit it, reality television can be mildly entertaining.”

Marco frowned at the abruptness of his guest’s comment before following Jean’s gaze to the T.V, having forgotten about it entirely. Plastered across the screen was a scrawny looking Chinese woman pulling an old wicker chair out of a seemingly large dumpster. Her mouth was moving but no sound was coming out, probably due to the ongoing MUTE feature Marco had switched his television to earlier in the evening. 

Nudging Jean’s feet with his own, Marco placed himself opposite the other and leaned forward, switching the volume back to functional. “What the heck is this?” He wondered aloud, jumping in surprise and two legs plopped themselves over his lap, rather unceremoniously. 

“Fuck if I know, but that lady looks bat shit crazy.” Jean said scratching the back of his ear and running a hand through his hair with a deep sigh. 

Marco’s eyes lingered on the teen for a few seconds longer than normally appropriate, his eyes glassing over as they travelled down his torso. Taking in the way his shirt draped loosely off of his lean frame, before being abruptly startled by a harsh buzzing in his pants pocket. The brunette let out a little yelp, jumping in surprise from the sudden series of vibrations against his thigh. 

Jean cast the other a wary glance before returning his attention to the screen, expression set to an impassive glower. 

Marco’s eyes stayed on the boy for a moment, wondering if Jean’s face just naturally fell that way. Taking note of the slight downturn on his lips before quickly turning his attention to the message, attentively blinking away on his cellphone’s bright screen.

Reiner: Isn’t he cute?!

Marco furrowed his brow as he read the text message again, quickly flipping back to the previous attached image and studying it deliberately before typing out a reply.

Marco: You and I have very different types.

Closing the phone, he settled back into the couch again, tuning into the already running stream of flippant commentary courtesy of Jean.

Another interruption of faint buzzing.

Reiner: Shut your mouth. He’s adorable and you know it.

Marco held back an amused snort, fingers nimbly flying over the keypad as his attention flicked between Jean’s sarcastic narration and the words on his cellphone’s screen. 

Marco: New boyfriend?

It didn’t take long for Reiner’s cursory response.

Reiner: If only…

There was another image attached depicting a dramatically sad looking Reiner, the lanky brunette somewhat half awake beside him, green eyes focused on something out of view.

Marco: I feel like a stalker. Stop sending me pictures.

Reiner: Woe is me. Help me heal this broken vitality that is my soul. For he is the sun and I am but a cloud in this vivid expanse of sky that falters before my unyielding devotion. 

Marco: Stop trying to be poetic, you sound like our grade eleven english teacher.

Reiner: I can’t help it dude. And don’t shit on my poetry, you know it’s the work of an artist.

Marco: Yes you can, and no it’s not.

Reiner: Shut your mouth. And no way, I’m not gonna ruin this with potentially destructive proposals of love.

Marco: What do you expect me to do about it?

Reiner: Do something!

Marco: I have company. Talk later.

Not two seconds later, his phone purred another staccato series of vibrations. 

Reiner: Sexy company?

Marco’s eyes bugged at the text on his screen, a flush creeping up his neck as he rapidly typed out a hasty response. He could practically hear the innuendo radiating off of Reiner’s message.

Marco: No. I’m helping out a friend. Sort of a long story. I’ll explain later.

Reiner: Is helping out a friend the new code for gett’n it on?

Marco: Oh my gosh!

Reiner: cue the sexy saxophone music

Marco: Shut up! No!

Reiner: Careless whisper

Marco let out a lough huff, his face growing brighter by the second as he glared at the screen. 

A foot nudged him in the side and Marco’s head snapped up in alarm.

Jean was watching him carefully, and to Marco’s horror, grinning. “You’re, like, fifty shades of red right now.” He threw a suave smile his way, flashing his teeth in insinuating amusement at Marco’s current state.

The brunette balked opening his mouth in protest before Jean continued, heedless of his response.

“Sexting with your girlfriend?”

“Wha- no!” Marco pulled the phone to his chest, earning a doubtful eyebrow raise in response.

“Way to deny the obvious freckles.” Jean’s expression phased awkwardly, slipping downwards before snapping back to mild interest. His falter going unnoticed by the flustered brunette, as he tried to piece together a reasonable response of his own. Jumping as the phone in his hand buzzed once more.

Reiner: have you found the Polo to your Marco?

Marco nearly dropped his phone as he read the response, eyes widening in embarrassed horror at the words glowing from the little rectangular screen. Snapping the phone shut, he let out a frustrated huff and ran a hand through his hair, dark strands falling loosely back in place while he collected himself.

“Just an old friend.” He let out a light laugh, re-opening the small brick and reading over the message for a second time. “He can be kind of a jerk.” 

Jean’s eyes lingered on Marco, expression stony before snatching the phone out of the brunette’s flimsy grasp.

“Hey-“ Was about all he could get out before Jean was flipping him off, phone held backwards at arm’s distance. Was he taking a selfie? 

Hitting the send button with a smug look plastered across his face, Jean closed the little rectangle.

A beat of silence passed between the two.

“What did you send?”

Smirking, Jean returned the phone, dropping it into his still open hand.

Marco flicked to his outbox, opening the menu and selecting the last one sent with cautious deliberation.

Attached was a rather poorly taken photo of Jean, middle finger raised as a scowl crossed his narrow face.

Marco let out a short laugh, dark eyes flying up to meet the other boy.

Jean wore a rather smug smirk, eyebrows raised in questioning approval. 

“I don’t know if that is going to make things worse or better.” He admitted, covering his mouth and biting back his smile from growing even wider. That look on Jean’s face was overwhelmingly endearing. 

Both boy’s eyes flew to the phone as it buzzed in Marco’s palm.

Reiner: New boyfriend?

Jean grabbed the phone again before Marco had the chance to reply.

Marco: just a homeless bum i picked up off the street a few nights ago.

Edging closer to Jean, Marco peeked over the other boy’s shoulder, watching him type out the response.

“You’re really sending that?”

Jean shrugged and hit the button. “If anything you’re the one that’s gonna sound crazy, not me.”

Marco shook his head in mild fascination, taking note of the way Jean may have inched closer to him as he spoke, closing the gap between his own chest and Jean’s shoulder. 

Reiner: Holy shit, are you serious Marco? Please tell me you’re joking.

Jean continued typing, apparently now, officially answering on Marco’s behalf.

Marco: no joke.

Reiner: you’re gonna get raped.

Jean let out a short laugh. “At least now we know what’s in your future freckles.”

Marco felt his face burn, noting how thankful he was for their current situation, Jean’s back pressed against his chest. At least that way he couldn’t see the state of his face as it gradually deepened in colour.

Marco: and probably pillaged.

“Hey.” Marco nudged him, a grin slowly spreading across his face.

Jean returned it with a haughty shrug. “Not my fault you’re the one who let me in here.”

“Under the assumed agreement that I would be neither raped nor pillaged.” Marco giggled before giving him another light shove.

Jean jostled him back roughly, elbowing him in the ribs and earning a muffled retaliation. “I made no such promises.”

Reiner: Definitely pillaged. Any last regrets?

Marco: I regret being such a nerd.

“A nerd!” Marco shoved Jean again, earning another nudge in the ribs.

Reiner: haha. but seriously dude, I get that you like to help people… this is a little much.

Marco reached over Jean’s shoulder, prying the phone from his grip and typing out his own response, arms resting lightly around the other boy. 

Marco: It’s okay Reiner, I can look after myself. I thought about this a lot, and I trust this guy. Okay?

Marco thought he felt Jean’s breath catch as he typed out his final words. Tapping send lightly and leaning back into the sofa with a sigh. 

“You keep saying that…” His voice was thin and quiet when he spoke again, sounding choked in the light murmur of the television long forgotten by the two boys.

“That’s because I mean it.” Came Marco’s soft reply. He had his head back, leaning across the top of the couch, eyes focused on the dim yellow light above their heads, watching the soft outline blur at the corners of his vision as his eyes slowly slipped in and out of focus. Why was he acting like this? 

Jean had shifted, now sitting parallel with the couch, one leg folded under himself, the other draped off of the side of the sofa. His eyes were glued on the brunette, intense and unblinking. “I haven’t done anything.”

Marco let out a subdued hum, eyes remaining on the ceiling as he thought over the other boy’s remark. He took a deep, hesitant, breath, held it, exhaling with resignation and closing his eyes, it had been a long day. “It’s not in your actions. It’s just part of who you are, I think. I don’t expect you to get it, even I don’t. I tried to explain it to you before… but it’s just like… something.” Marco trailed off, his last word only a breath on his lips, suspended on the still air between them like a ghost, ****faint, from a past long buried beneath eroded tombs of turmoil long forgotten. “I’m not saying it makes sense. It probably doesn’t. But that’s the best answer I can give you right now.” Marco’s voice had grown quiet as he muttered, his last words loosely falling from his lips each spoken slower and heavier than the last.

A languid silence fell between the two, chorused by the staccato beats of a covered cellphone and distant hums from the forgotten television set. 

Reiner: Okay dude, just be careful.

Jean put the phone down, his tawny eyes taking in the sight of the boy at his side, trailing up the smooth curve of his neck. His long, dark, eyelashes cast light shadows over his cheeks, dusted in a collection of scattered freckles that cover his nose. His breathing had evened out and Jean watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, feeling his own composure beginning to unwind with the enticing call of sleep echoing at the corners of his own mind. It baffled him, really, how the freckled boy could drift off so comfortably in a position like that. Working in a bakery must take a lot more energy than he originally assumed. 

“Hey, Marco.” Jean’s voice came out in a thin whisper as he leaned over the other boy, placing a hand gently on his arm. “You’re not sleeping here two night in a row man. Get up.” He jostled the other, watching as his head lolled limply to the side, dark hair splaying across the couch cushion he was resting on.

“Mmm” Came Marco’s pitched reply, sounding more like a lyrical hum as it wavered and fell again. He twitched slightly, large brown eyes fluttering open part way to meet Jean’s amber. 

Jean felt his heart leap into his chest as their eyes blurred into each other, unmoving. He swallowed slowly and let out a careful breath, willing himself to keep it together long enough to no fuck things up. 

Marco’s eyes searched his, staring seemingly somewhere beyond the shallow confines of his own vision. His gaze felt like it was bleeding into every empty crevice left in his worn out body, washing into the places Jean hadn’t even noticed were empty before this. He was drowning. he was drowning in Marco. And the he wasn’t.

The brunette had moved, sitting up and yawning an apology before rising to his feet. He shuffled over to the television and shut it off, the click echoing louder that it had to in the sudden roaring silence of the apartment. 

“G’night Jean.” A bleary voice fluttered over to him before being plunged into a dim grey as the lights flicked off. 

“Yeah.” He breathed into the soft grey now engulfing the room. Jean felt his chest constrict as he tried, once again, to swallow the thick lump in his throat. “yeah…”

_shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I saw sparks,  
> Yeah I saw sparks,  
> And I saw sparks,  
> Yeah I saw sparks,  
> Sing it out.
> 
> \---
> 
> Jean's seeing sparks.  
> 1\. This chapter came late (both literally and, well, literally). I'm sorry. It killed me and I don't know why...  
> I owe the speedy recovery from the curse of chapter 7 to both Phix and Avoiding Avoidance. Bless their souls wether they read this or not.
> 
> 2\. All your responses in the form of literary commendation is killing me in the best way possible. THANK YOU, you delicate little sesame buns, may you all proof to become the beautiful soft steamed dumplings I know you are.
> 
> 3\. If you like what you're reading so far a) you might be crazy, b) you can find more on [my Tumblr of seemingly limitless jeanmarco overload and possible neurosis](http://jellyphish-sempai.tumblr.com/)  
> I like to talk. Talk to me if you wish, I shall respond with words.
> 
> -XX


	8. In my Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories and ghosts, we should have known, they never make things better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was scared, I was scared  
> Tired and under prepared  
> But I'll wait for it  
> If you go, if you go  
> And leave me down here on my own  
> Then I'll wait for you

He couldn’t feel his fucking face again. The unrelenting chill of January hadn’t seemed to let up over the following weeks. As the two boys trudged through 2 feet of neatly fallen, unshoveled snow, Jean silently lamented over a time of warmth, free from the harrowing burden of ever having to leave Marco’s little yellow apartment.

It had become a rather quick habit, spending his days in the small space. Jean had taken to lounging on the couch for the majority of his afternoons, picking at the various items in Marco’s sparse pantry without much of a fuss. The simple fact that he could easily cross the room to put something half decent into his stomach at mealtimes was enough to satiate the now helplessly dependant bum he had somehow morphed into over his short stay. It made Jean wonder how he had ever gotten by without Marco in the first place. Although, he’d hate to admit that his dependence on the freckled baker boy was probably as one sided as it got. Jean liked to think that his contribution to their small home was something along the lines of exuberant personality and stimulating conversation, although he wasn’t really kidding himself.

Icy snowflakes pelted his face relentlessly as the trudged forward.

It had been Marco’s brilliant idea to go outside and he was currently cursing the brunette beside him for the suggestion. Who actually goes outside when it’s this cold? God, he was becoming a such a whimp.

 

A thick winter jacket fell heavily over Jean’s face, plunging him into momentary darkness as he scrambled to free himself from it’s suffocating confines, barking out a belligerent “What the hell?”

When he managed to get the offending article of clothing off his face he was met with a rather self satisfied smirk, sitting comfortably on his roommate’s freckled face, his eyes glinting with muted enthusiasm. God dammit it was so hard to stay angry at the guy with him smiling like that.

“I was thinking you might want some warmer winter things.” Marco had explained lightly. Leaning across the back of the couch, arms folded under his chin as he stooped to meet Jean’s gaze. The brunette quirked an eyebrow in silent inquisition, the hint of a smile still lingering on his lips as he gazed up at the boy sitting comfortably at the end of his sofa.

Jean mirrored Marco’s expression, eyeing him suspiciously. “Yeah, but I don’t have the cash, remember?”

This earned him a lopsided smile. Marco was practically beaming and it was beginning to throw Jean off.

“What?”

“I’ll pay. You’re gonna need the things anyways, it’s cold and it’s winter.” He wrinkled his nose, considering his words. “I’ll pay. We’ll just add it to your steadily growing tab.” He grinned, cheekily at that, mouth pulled upwards as he appraised Jean’s slow response.

“Tab? Since when was there a tab?” Jean balked, straightening up in his spot on the sofa uncomfortably.

Marco laughed again and ran a hand through his dark hair, “I’m kidding Jean.”

His dark eyes fell on Jean’s again and he felt himself slowly becoming hyper aware of the expressions his face was making.

“But I really don’t mind. You’ve come this far. And it’s not like I’m exactly saving for anything special.” He stood up and crossed the space between their couch and the door, grabbing a jacket of his own off the coat hanger. “So don’t feel guilty, I’m the one offering.” That said, he gave a little jerk with his head towards the door in a silent plea to get Jean moving.

It baffled Jean, it really did. Marco time and time again had surprised him with his overpowering selflessness. What was it that made that guy tick? Jean supposed he just had to thank his lucky stars that he was the one Marco had chosen to extend a hand to on that frigid, blustery evening those weeks ago. Although, something in the back of his mind told him Marco wouldn’t do this for just anyone, Jean still found himself wondering  just why it was that the tall brunette’s insistence to help had yet to fizzle out.

Shaking himself from daft introspection he had somehow fallen into, Jean peeled himself off of the couch and threw the jacket around his frame, flinching as a scarf and two mittens flew at his face, hitting him square in the jaw. “Would you stop doing that?”  
Marco only giggled in response, as he pulled a toque over his mop of thick brown hair and opened the door.

Jean rushed to bundle up, grabbing his own beanie from it’s place on the sofa, and hurriedly winding the scarf around his neck, shoving the woolly mittens over his hands and striding past Marco, out the door.

 

Huddling over his styrofoam cup of coffee, Jean inspected their rather impressive haul of winter items.

Marco had dragged him all over downtown trost that afternoon, hunting down a jacket, some necessary clothing requirements, like socks, a scarf, and gloves of his own. Jean had to stop himself multiple times from protesting to the insistent boy. Marco, smiling broadly each time and ignoring any objections from the wiry boy with a warm smile that shut Jean up almost immediately. Mostly because Jean quickly became far too distracted with trying to hide his frantic blush behind his woolen scarf. Jean marvelled at how openly Marco was able to express his feelings. The boy’s expressions were nearly 100% genuine, making him incredibly readable, something Jean was thankful for, having grown up in a household of stoic professionalism and distant amenity. He found himself wondering just what kind of family Marco had grown up around. Probably almost the exact opposite of his own empty recollections of what the word ‘home’ actually alluded to. Empty hallways and tight lipped smiles.

Said brunette was now seated across him in the busy cafeteria, leaning over the steam of his warm drink, eyes downturned, focused on the curling swirls of smoke rising from his cup. His dark eyelashes hooded the bright brown irises underneath, freckles, standing out over the flush across his cold cheekbones, making him look absolutely stunning in the warmly lit room.

Jean had to fight every fibre of his being not to reach over and brush a thumb over those adorable freckles, because, god dammit, Marco was not making this easy. Raising the insulated mug to his lips and taking hesitant a sip, Jean slumped back in his chair and made himself comfortable. Now was not the time to be making eyes at his overly-considerate roommate of two weeks.

He had only just gotten to know the guy, and, as cute as he may be, he didn’t have a clue as to what his type even was… or if he even had a type for that matter. He assumed Marco was single, that much was apparent, given his lack of visitors over Jean’s time with the other thus far. Marco hadn’t mentioned a significant other, or any friends for that matter. Aside from their brief exchange with the guy he now knew to be called Reiner, Jean hadn’t heard a breath of a word about his social life outside of the bakery. He almost wondered if it was something worth bringing up, although, secretly, he really didn’t mind keeping the freckled brunette to himself. If that meant lazy afternoons in warm coffee shops and movie nights on that ridiculously comfortable sofa, Jean wasn’t really complaining about the company Marco decided to keep.

Marco glanced up at Jean through the steam of his drink, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a soft smile. “Hey.”

Jean blinked abruptly, his gaze on the other boy having lost all remnants of conscious thought long ago. “What?”  
Marco let out a soft laugh, “You’ve been pretty quiet. Something up?”  
“What? Oh, uh, no.” Jean had meant to answer coherently, he really did, but apparently his mouth had different ideas. “I mean, I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” He let out a shaky laugh at that. Way to go, could you act any more suspicious?

Marco just shrugged and took a sip of his own drink, eyes wandering to the other side of the cafe thoughtfully. “You know, I was thinking. You have an address now…” he took a hesitant pause, brow furrowing as his eyes remained on the opposite side of the room. “I mean, it’s only a thought… don’t feel pressured or anything, but…” Marco was playing with the rim of his cup, unrolling the curled paper and folding it over absently as he spoke. “You could probably go back to school now. Or, like, get a job?” Dark eyes darted back to Jean’s expectantly.

He could see the hesitance in the other boy’s stare, something resembling a quiet apology.   
Jean let out a light hum, leaning on the small round table so that their elbows were touching. He couldn’t help but notice the other boy’s gaze flickered down before returning to meet Jean’s. Well he didn’t move, that was something… at least.

“Maybe. I don’t know. I mean finishing school would probably be ideal… but, it costs money to get back into that shit. If you’ve forgotten, I’m not exactly swimming in cash, you know?”

Marco let out a quiet laugh, it sounded soft and melodic in the low din of the cozy cafe. “Yeah, is it that expensive?” He was chewing thoughtfully on his bottom lip now, eyes set on Jean, seemingly lost in thoughtful concentration.

“Uh, I don’t know. I mean it depends, you know?” Jean lightly kicked at Marco’s foot under the table. Earning himself a slight nudge in return. Resting a hand on his cheek, Jean looked upwards, eyes catching on the gaudy lamps hanging from the ceiling. He couldn’t help but note, again, Marco’s weird affinity for tacky eating places.

Leaning heavily on his arm as Jean let his mind wander, trying to remember what, exactly, his parents had been paying for his school. Because, god forbid, they ever let him forget that small detail.   
It was a given, of course, that Jean attend a well known school. His parents had been adamant about that fact, earning him a lengthy round of scolding  every time his grades fell even short of perfect. Much to Jean’s exasperation, he had found himself sitting through almost weekly lectures about his ambitions, his grades, his intelligence. His studying, apparently, was never up to par. Regardless of the countless hours he spent pouring over those fucking history textbooks or thesis studies, his grades always seemed to fall short. Jean remembered, with pallid observation, that somewhere along the lines he had given up. Surrendering to the weekly lectures with half hearted discontent, accepting them as if they were simply another mandatory lesson on how to fuck shit up.

If anything good had come from it, he had, at least, found a useful investment for his newly acquired extra time. Finding plenty of ways for him and Thomas to waste the hours together. Both boys taking advantage of Jean’s now rather flexible schedule to spend nearly every waking moment with one another.

Hiding away in the back of Thomas’s tacky old Ford, Jean could remember spending hours on end listening to Yellow on repeat. The quiet riffs and familiar melody playing from the staticy speakers of Thomas’s old cassette player. Yes, it went without saying, Jean had burned that mixtape for Thomas. Something along the lines of complete and utter, idiotic, infatuation had seemingly possessed him. A little voice, convincing him that something so cheesy was actually romantic. Looking back on it now, Jean would vehemently deny that any such tape had ever existed on this frozen earth.

Marco had been staring at him. His big brown eyes watching him thoughtfully as Jean allowed his mind to wander so grossly off topic it was laughable.

“Well what about a job then?”  
Startling himself back from the brink of eventual emotional anguish, Jean’s eyes focused. Pulling himself back to the present and into those alarmingly deep chestnut eyes. “A job?” The words were jerky, sounding foreign on his lips as he stumbled through the motions of reigning his muddled attention from Thomas, to Marco, to whatever the hell they were talking about now.

Marco didn’t seem to notice, simply nodding at the words in question before taking another sip of his coffee and nudging Jean’s foot playfully. “I’m not saying you have to though.” He threw another warm smile across the table and shrugged, huddling his drink close. “I mean, it’s kind of fun having you around all the time, so… no rush.”

Jean heard himself laughing. Okay, he was laughing now, he could do this. “Thanks, guess I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Jean?”

A voice cut through the pair’s conversation. The sound of his name sending a jolt of panic through Jean’s body.

No.

Amber eyes flew up to the voice’s owner, knowing full well, the owner of that gentle, questioning tone, his mind holding out for a terrifying hope that maybe he had been mistaken. Because no, this wasn’t happening, his chest wasn’t constricting painfully, his vision wasn’t swimming. He wasn’t overcome with something resembling shock, as that voice reeled back memories he had forgotten to forget. Utter dread washed over him, and something that still felt like that bittersweet giddiness curling in the pit of his stomach. A soft nostalgia that he wasn’t ready to release.

Hazel eyes stared at him from under a fringe of scruffy blonde. He was taller, broader. His hair was different, no longer sitting in that messy mop of short cut blonde at the top of his head. A grey woollen jacket rested on his broad shoulders, opened slightly to reveal a familiar band shirt under the thick scarf woven around his neck.

Shit.

He looked good…

“Thomas.” Was about all Jean could squeak out. He felt as if something had grabbed his vocal chords and squeezed violently, limiting any and all sound to a choked whisper.

Marco’s eyes widened, emotions flickering from confusion to immediate alarm as his gaze shot up to the blonde, now standing tentatively beside their table, a fond smile playing on his painfully familiar lips.

Thomas’s eyes were soft, almost radiating a warmth that settled so recognisably into Jean’s subconscious. Jean felt himself getting rapidly swept away again, barely fighting the force that pulled at the corners of his memory, Breaking so abruptly, careening and slamming into him like a wall of barren, solid, concrete.

His palms were sweaty, but he wasn’t sure if that was because of Thomas, or the coffee, or maybe a cruel combination of the two.

“Wow, it’s been so long.” The blonde breathed, sounding flustered and, relieved. “Jean…” His name sounded soft on the other boy’s lips, tone, teetering on something resembling a repentant tenderness.

“H-hey…” Jean stuttered out, his voice sounding a lot dopier than intended, leaving his lips with a stupid sounding sigh.

Jean felt a light pressure on his arm, Marco had placed a hand atop his, giving it a gentle squeeze as he watched him. Brown eyes practically brimming with hesitant concern as he quietly observed the pair’s edgy interaction.

Jean blinked a few times, rapidly, straightening even further in his seat. Marco’s concerned expression was wavering on distress, the freckled boy’s countenance having an almost sobering effect on Jeans presently compromised emotional state.

Marco’s eyes were wide with something that looked an awful lot like panicky dismay, almost pleading with Jean to come back from the edge he had so suddenly, and abruptly pitched, head first, over.

Breathing in, his lungs straining against the oxygen that filled them, Jean’s eyes flickered back to Thomas.

The boy who had forgotten him. The boy who had left him, alone and stranded, standing on an old wooden porch, twenty dollars and a suitcase later. The boy who had said he loved him, who had made him laugh. Those familiar lips singing stupid songs about love, and him and them. The boy who had kissed him so unexpectedly after a long movie about something Jean couldn’t remember. Who had swept him away with words about forever and something that sounded like more than just friends. Promises of fluttering hearts and glancing fingertips, vague possibilities about a future that didn’t seem so far away. Evenings spent under starlight and milky ways, tracing constellations that only existed in imaginations far too broad for a pair of wandering hearts. But at least they were lost together.

That’s what he had said…

That’s what he had promised.

And he believed him.

He fucking believed him…

“What do you want?” Jean’s voice had turned cold, nearly blanketing his words in a thin layer of frost as it wavered between the pair. Whatever warmth had been there a moment before had quickly evaporated, leaving only the hollow sounds of shoes on concrete and chairs screeching against the worn floorboards.  
Thomas blinked, his eyes reflecting alarmed confusion at Jean’s sudden transformation. His expression, stuttering abruptly from glowing fondness to one of complete bewilderment. “It’s just…” He looked at the ground, shuffling uncomfortably. His familiar hazel eyes holding Jean’s a breath of a second longer than necessary before flitting back down again, nervously. “It’s been almost a year…” He was looking at him again.

Looking at him with those eyes Jean knew all too well. An expression on his face that just screamed out for an explanation. This guy, he actually had the audacity to look hurt!

Jean scowled, sitting back and crossing his arms defensively, creating as much of a physical barrier between him and the wounded looking blonde as he could. “Yeah, it sure as fucking hell has, Thomas.”

Thomas’s gaze landed on Marco momentarily, seemingly, having only just noticed the fidgety brunette.

His eyes went wide as he stared between the two, Jean, glowering, and Marco, looking a lot smaller than his physical constitution actually made him out to be.   
Eyes, finally coming to a halt on Jean, he gave him one of those looks. One Jean didn’t need an explanation to understand.

And no, no fucking way, he wasn’t doing this.

Jean raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence as the boy in front of him struggled to find his words.

“Was I, uh, interrupting…?”

“What does it look like?” Jean’s voice had reached a steady level of detached calm. And by this point, the boiling inferno of rage in the pit of his stomach had settled, swirling, a murky tide of vicious resentment.

“Oh.” Came the other’s soft reply, his voice wavering.

It took all Jean had not to launch himself at the dismayed looking boy in a fit of uncontrollable rage.

Since when did he have the right?!  

Since when we he allowed to act so sad?!

Watching as his expression crumbled into one of defeated understanding, hazel eyes growing dim, Jean felt that angry fire flicker. If he hadn’t been so mad, he would have almost felt sorry for the guy.

Almost.

“I’ll- I’ll see you, then… Jean.” Thomas smiled shakily and waved, his motions weak and resigned as he backed up. “My number’s the same… maybe, calle me? Okay?”  
And with that he was gone, disappearing into the crowd of late afternoon diners and unemployed teenagers. The cozy cafe, seemingly jumping back into life as Jean watched that familiar retreating back, until he was out of sight.

They sat there.

Silent for too long.

Staring emptily into his coffee cup, the drink now growing cold, Jean swallowed, nervously.

He felt numb, all rage having crumbled. As soon as the blonde boy from his memories was gone, he felt empty again. Whatever warmth Marco had managed to kindle with his gentle words, enchanting smiles, and kind heart had seemed like nothing compared to the flood of memories now coursing through him.   
The memories he had thought were left behind, with that suitcase, on the porch of Thomas’s worn wooden steps, in a house that had once held the boy he thought he loved.   
Those memories seemed so sweet still. As much as he wanted to deny it, as much as he wanted to run screaming from it in the other direction, Jean knew, with crumbling realization, that he still hadn’t let go. He didn’t want to let go.

“Jean.”

Marco’s gentle voice floated into his stream of consciousness, winding around his limbs and pulling Jean down from his anxiety laden reverie with all the grace of an Angel.

“Hm?”  
“Do… do you wanna talk?” A long pause. “ About It, I mean…”  
Jean focused in on the boy opposite himself, sitting tentatively, both hands still clutching his coffee cup, looking rather hesitant, small, even. As if he were afraid one word would break him.

For all Jean fucking knew, he was probably right.

Jean exhaled a sharp puff of air, feeling the familiar tendrils of abjection already snaking their way through him, curling at the corners of his thoughts, shutting off all the warmth he had felt mere hours ago.

Unravelling everything with such ease it was laughable.

“No.”  
Marco blinked, his soft expression faltering at Jean’s hollow words. “Oh.” The brunette breathed out a little sigh of his own, escaping in a stuttery staccato. “Okay, well If you need to talk.” He placed a hand on Jean’s, he was warm. Maybe it was just residual heat from the coffee he had been nursing, but it felt nice. “I’m here. Okay?” He was looking straight at him now. The deep brown of his irises set firmly on Jean’s amber. He looked steady, comforting.

Jean wondered where he found the energy.  
“Thanks dude.” He looked away, pulling his hand back from under Marco’s and shoving it into his sleeve. “But I’m fine.” He didn’t deserve, this. He didn’t need this. He stared at the table. Anywhere but at Marco, he was retreating, so alarmingly fast it made him dizzy.

Marco was wasting his time, and the more he was blinded by it, the more obvious it became to Jean.

The silence between them might as well have been a haunting scream, blood curdling, ear shattering, bone crushing. It seemed so obvious. So painfully obvious.

What Marco had done was put a bandaid over a head wound. He had applied disinfectant, making him numb, warm and fuzzy, and covered it with adhesive plastic. He had wrapped him in a yellow blanket, smoothing his hair over the gash and whispering “shhh it’s nothing. It will go away with time.” So sweetly, so gently. His words had been coated in cotton candy and cinnamon, so sweet and sticky he hadn’t noticed the blood still seeping, still pouring, down his face.

Jean almost believed him.

What an idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my place, in my place  
> Were lines that I couldn't change  
> I was lost 
> 
> \-----
> 
> Sorry
> 
>  
> 
> [You can yell at me here](http://jellyphish-sempai.tumblr.com/)


	9. How You See the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're gonna get it right some time...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you missing something?  
> Looking for something?  
> Tired of everything  
> Searching and struggling  
> Are you worried about it?  
> Do you wanna talk about it?  
> Oh You're gonna get it right some time

There weren’t many words exchanged on the frigid walk home.

He could feel it, fluid tendrils, almost colder than the snow on his face, snaking their way between the pair.

He hated it.

The silence felt tense. Marco’s chest ached and he didn’t know why, he just wanted Jean to talk to him again.  He wanted him to open up like he had that night only weeks ago. He wanted so badly for Jean to actually look at him and see that he wasn’t alone in this. Marco was there, he cared, he would fight for him. He wanted to go back to earlier that morning, dozing peacefully on the couch, legs intertwined in the empty space between them, conversation floating comfortably through simple sighs and laughs. He wanted Jean to talk to him.

Wind whipped at his face as they turned a corner, Marco’s foot slipping abruptly on some black ice hidden beneath the powder. Sloppily catching himself, arms windmilling about in the air. The brunette let out a little yelp, nerves causing his voice to waver as a light puff of smoke rose from his lips. His heart hammered in his chest uncomfortably, and he glanced downwards, surveying the clear glassy surface with trepidation.  
Jean had stopped, hands shoved into his pockets, just looking at him, expression blank.

“Oh wow, that was close.” Marco laughed, voice having returned after a moment’s hesitation.

Jean just turned and continued walking. Having been satisfied by the brunette’s nervous laughter, taking it as a sign to carry on. He pushed forwards.

Marco watched him with apprehension, blinking a few times before making to catch up with the other boy. It wasn’t normal for Jean to let a stupid stumble like that go by unnoticed. Usually by now, he would have voiced at least several snide remarks about Marco’s lack of coordination, accompanying them with an amused smirk on the other’s behalf.

Marco would reach out to him, put a hand on his shoulder, whatever he needed…

If that’s what he needed.

He wasn’t sure. At this point, Jean’s silence seemed more like a barrier than a call for help.

It seemed as if that small exchange between Thomas had created a giant chasm Marco couldn’t even hope to span. Jean had pulled into himself so abruptly  he felt as if he wasn’t even given a chance to reach out for the other boy. And now that he tried, it was like grabbing at air, whatever had been there was merely a shadow of the past, a ghost of something just barely out of reach.

He hated it.

Whatever it was between them, Marco understood, with sad resignation, that he alone would not be capable of pushing Jean forwards. As much as he wanted to believe that the connection they had made was sturdy enough for Jean to lean on, a small nagging voice in the back of his head threatened that very assumption.

 

By the time they had returned to Marco’s tiny apartment the distance between the par felt, to Marco, like a small planet. It was clear, simply through Jean’s body language, that he didn’t want to talk about it.

Shrugging off his jacket rather forcefully, the tawny eyed teenager tossed it haphazardly over the back of their couch. Shoulders slouched, head down, he yanked off his beanie, running a hand through his hair.

Marco watched his finger shake as Jean made to shove them back in the pockets of his hoodie, missing a few times before burying them almost violently in the material, glowering at the floor.

He still hadn’t looked at Marco.

Jean crossed the room wordlessly, leaving a cool breeze of anxiety in his wake, and, wordlessly locked himself inside the bathroom, the doorknob clicking with cool finality.

Letting out a breath he had been holding since their arrival, Marco moved to hang up his own things. Going through the motions.

Zipper-scarf-jacket-gloves-shoes…

Since Jean’s arrival, Marco hadn’t had a problem with the other boy’s company in the slightest. It seemed like a welcome intrusion into his regularly monotonous days at the bakery. He loved having someone to talk to. He loved having something to look forward to at the end of the day. Stumbling home in a half exhausted, flour covered state of weariness actually seemed nice when he knew what, or maybe, who, he would be coming home to. Or that he would be coming home to anything at all. Opening the door to a cutting remark of “you look like shit.” had never sounded so welcoming before. It sounded like home. For maybe the first time since Marco had made the move to Trost, his small apartment, with it’s gaudy kitchen, tiny bathroom, secondhand furniture, and ticking clock actually felt like just that, a home.

He hadn’t noticed it at first, or how often it actually happened; it sort of snuck up on him.

Over the past few days, Marco would admit, with some embarrassment, that it had been hitting him stronger and far more frequently than he had ever anticipated.

You know.

That feeling you get when you’re falling. 50 feet from the ground, on one of those old amusement park rides. You know you’ll be fine, you know you probably won’t die. But in those first few seconds, the pull is so great, the shift in momentum so strong, that you forget everything. All emotions, all preconceived notions. Everything is just swept away, all raw, unfeeling, irrational emotion, unhindered, unencumbered by, well, everything. That’s how it felt to be around Jean.

He was no poet, Marco knew that. His ability to voice, or even think, on any level of romantic introspection fell flat of being painfully inaccurate, and often times completely off track. Identifying exactly what it was he was suddenly feeling for Jean had been, in itself, enough of a challenge. He wasn’t even sure if he had yet to identify it at all. The feeling fell somewhere in between an intense desire to mother the boy to death and the equally overwhelming desire to kiss him senseless. Marco tried not to dwell on it too long, he would rather things remain as they were for the moment. Jean had been through enough, as it was. The wiry youth seemed bogged down by enough emotional baggage of his own, without Marco’s confused emotions to consider.

Marco felt, it was something about Jean’s cocky attitude, and almost unsympathetic approach towards life. He found it to be a rather refreshing change from his own habitual pace of hasty dedication and full hearted ambition. In almost every respect, it felt as if the two were completely different people. Jean’s attitude was anything opposite of calm and collected. He seemed to maintain a rather indifferent manner of approach towards most things, while at the same time, being far too emotionally invested in others. Jean seemed to work on a rather black and white premise when it came to his personal preferences. It was like or dislike, love or hate. The fact that Jean had allowed Marco in, as one of the things he saw fit to accept as -if only barely- a good thing, that made Marco’s chest constrict. As hesitantly as he would admit it, Marco’s countenance around the other boy over the past given weeks was one of indecisive apprehension. He didn’t want to chase Jean away, if anything he wanted the exact opposite.

There were no bulshit niceities, or socially acceptable nuances that accompanied Jean. His brutal honesty was both painful and flattering at the same time. Perhaps, the fact that he had accepted Marco was part of it.

Marco was fully aware of the blatantly direct way in which he had barged his way into Jean’s life. He had never been especially concerned with the overbearing first impression he had left on the other boy. Whatever pull he had been feeling for the teen at that time was purely built off limited conversation, and an intense curiosity to learn Jean’s name. Although it became rather glaringly apparent after the fact, just exactly what sort of impression that initial encounter had left Jean with, Marco wasn’t too concerned about it. If anything, he had simply been glad to have gained a friend from the whole experience. At least, that’s what he told himself.

  
Marco stood by the kitchen counter, leaning heavily on it’s edge, hands in his pocket staring blankly at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it felt like ages since the bathroom door had even budged.

The apartment was frighteningly silent. It seemed as if everything had stopped. It felt like even that annoying clock on the kitchen wall had lowered it’s incessant ticking to a softer tempo of dull beats.

Heaving an uneven sigh, Marco glanced warily at the bathroom door again, chewing nervously on his bottom lip as his resolution flip flopped around, vaguely flitting from one solution to the next.

“I should probably talk to him.” He murmured, vocally trying to spur himself into action.

He didn’t move.

What would he say? What would he do? What if Jean pushed him away again? He didn’t want to make things weirder than they already were.

Jean had trusted him enough to open himself up. He trusted him, allowed himself to let go of at least a little bit of his own personal burden, and share it with Marco. He had seen him cry, and Marco loved him for that. He just didn’t know if his next move would result in a frantic backpedal or some kind of staggering emotional breakthrough. He hoped for the latter.

The kettle to his left gave a sharp click, Marco’s dark eyes darting, probably too quickly, to the source of it’s sound. Moving to fill a mug he had previously placed on the countertop, he let out yet another dismal sigh. The sound mirroring the water now spilling from the kettle’s spout.

Stirring the liquid with a spoon, Marco watched with vague interest as it darkened to a milky brown in the cup. The comforting smell of chocolate rose with the steam into the warm room, it’s nostalgic fragrance gripping onto the air with comforting serenity.

Hopefully this will help.

Marco lifted the mug from the counter and crossed the room. Crouching in front of the door he raised a hand, hesitantly pausing and taking a breath then slowly releasing it, before knocking softly on it’s wooden surface.

“Jean?”

There was no reply, only muffled rustling against the door.

He tried again.

“Hey… I know you probably just want me to go away…” he leaned his head forward, resting it against the warm wood and closing his eyes. “but, I think we should probably talk about this…” Marco had to mentally congratulate himself, taking note of the fact that somehow he had managed to maintain a steady tone as the words slid past his lips. It felt as if, by giving his worries voice, all the stress he had previously been holding was cleared away. The tension was leaving his muscles bit by bit. As he continued to crouch against the barrier between himself and the petrified boy on the other side he focused on breathing, his nerves settling calmly, returning to his usual steady rythm.

“Marco…” A loud sigh could be heard on the other side, followed by more rustling. The door handle clicked and it was pulled open.

Marco blinked a couple times, coming face to face with amber eyes, he had been right, Jean was sitting on the bathroom floor. He felt his face pull into a smile he hoped was comforting.

“Hey.”

Jean stared, long and hard, his lips pressed into a tight line. It looked, to Marco, as if he was trying to decide whether or not he should yell or cry. After a few long moments of silence, the teen’s eyes flicked downwards, surveying the mug still cradled in Marco’s hands.

“S’that for me?”  
Marco took this as a sign, shifting into sitting, folding his long legs in front of himself and holding it out wordlessly. He nodded.

Jean took it with a muffled ‘thanks’ gently lifting it from Marco’s fingers and holding it up to shield his mouth, long pale fingers wrapping around it’s warm ceramic.

Marco stared at him for a while, picking his words carefully as the two seemed to remain in suspended animation. “I know, you’re upset. I understand why you don’t want to talk about it. I do.” He sighed a little, running a hand through his hair usually well kept. He didn’t care how messy it looked at this point. “it’s just… Getting past stuff like this.” He shifted his eyes back to Jean. “You can’t do it alone.”

Jean let out a little scoff at that, averting his gaze and focusing intently on the checkered tile, creating a line between the two. He lifted the mug further over his face, acting as a barrier between the them and shrunk back against Marco’s firm stare.

Marco watched him wordlessly. His uneasy shifting, the way his shoulders slouched defeatedly, his entire posture screamed get away from me.

Marco wasn’t budging.

“Jean…” He breathed, shifting a little closer to the boy and leaning forward, arms resting lightly on his crossed legs. “You probably feel really alone right now. And you probably want to hold on to him. And I’m probably just annoying you. But you have to at least listen… Okay?”

Jean lifted his gaze hesitantly, meeting Marco’s with reluctance. There was something behind his gaze other than sadness and Marco was quick to pick up on his frustration.  

With a resigned sigh, Jean shifted so he was facing him.

Well that’s one down.

“What Marco?”

The brunette sighed, again, his own gaze flitting to the tiles nervously under the watch of Jean’s piercing amber. “I just think that you put Thomas on a pedestal.” He licked his lips, carefully choosing his words as he spoke. “You two were really close, weren’t you?”

Jean just nodded blankly. His dull expression, unfazed.

Marco took a breath. “Okay, but the thing is… You’re not the same person anymore… right?”  
Another vacant nod.

“So, he probably still thinks you're the same Jean he dated. And, I mean, not that that’s a bad thing…” Shit, he was backpedaling. “I just mean…” Another sigh, he was sighing too much. “You deserve better. You’ve been through so much… And you probably don’t feel like it now, but you’re way stronger than you used to be. And he doesn’t deserve the person you’ve grown into … You know?” It felt like Marco’s stomach was doing aerial maneuvers as he spoke, dropping and being lifted repeatedly. He needed to calm down. “I just… You’re really amazing and-” He felt like this had gotten away from him. Like, thousands of miles away, like, crossing the pacific ocean away. Why was he saying this?!?!?!

Marco, calm down.

“Just, don’t sell yourself short. You’re not worth his time. And, as much as you might want to go back to whatever it was you had with him. I know you can find better…”

He stared at the ground, his skin was burning. He was supposed to be comforting him. Not confessing! He let out another shaky breath.

“Never sigh in earnest.”

“What?” Marco’s brown eyes shot up, meeting Jean’s steady gaze.

“Never cry. You’ll be taken advantage of by demons.”  
“Sorry, Jean, wha-”  
“Something I read from a book once.” the other boy was smiling now. Albeit, still tinged with the remnants of sadness. He was smiling.

“Demons though…?”

Jean shrugged, taking a sip of his chocolate. “If you have a problem, take it up with the author.”

Marco was smiling now. He couldn’t help it. Somehow they had shifted back. Maybe it was something he said, he couldn’t be sure. But he had broken the wall, and that mattered most.

“Hey, uh, Marco.” Jean’s voice was soft now, hesitant, even. Eyes downcast, staring holes through his hot cocoa.

“mm?”

“Thanks, again. I think I’m kind of gonna owe you a hell of a lot by the end of this…”  
Marco laughed, leaning forward a little further and resting his forehead against Jeans, the other boy’s short hair tickling his eyebrows as he let his eyes flutter shut. “You aren’t gonna owe me anything Jean. I’m not doing this for me.”

He thought he heard Jean’s breath catch. Not that Marco could blame him. He may have been crossing a line. But at the moment, he couldn’t really find it in himself to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is there something missing?  
> There's nobody listening  
> Are you scared of what you don't know?  
> don't wanna end up on your own?  
> You need conversation  
> And information
> 
> \----
> 
> I'm really disappointed in this chapter. I'm sorry guys. I hope it reads okay...
> 
> PSA: [I changed my URL for tagging reasons you can find me here now, sorry about the inconvenience!](http://jellyfishsempai.tumblr.com/)


	10. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So maybe it's only only Jean and Marco who have been struck by the winter woes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this was long overdue. I'm sorry for the wait you guys.   
> I really have no idea how this chapter is going to be received. 
> 
> This fic isn't only Jeanmarco Y'all  
> [Tumblr](http://jellyfishsempai.tumblr.com)

Bzz

Bzz

Bzz

Reiner: Have you been raped and pillaged yet?

Marco: HAha… ha, you’re so funny.

Reiner: ok, but seriously man. What’s the deal with homeless guy?

Reiner: Do you like him? 

Reiner: You doin the do?

Reiner: Cause I don’t know man, he looks like a pond frond

Marco: Oh my gosh, Reiner! You’ve only seen one picture of him.

Marco: Besides! Like you’re any better?

Reiner: Don’t insult Bert! He’s my muse, the love of my life, the essence of my very soul!

Marco: Love of your life, soul essence??? Wow you’ve got it bad. And... soul essence?? 

Reiner: Yeah, you jealous?

Marco: No, I don’t think I’d ever want to be somebody’s soul essence.

Reiner: You would if it was him.

Rolling over on the couch, the bright screen was the only light in his tiny room. Piercing, almost shrilly, through the darkness, the blonde had to squint against it’s harsh light, sacrificing eyesight for convenience and not bothering with the light switch.

It was early. Probably too early. The digital numbers on the top of Reiners phone were glowing 5:00 AM bright white against his face. 

It was way too early.

The big blonde threw a hand over his eyes and let out a sigh, shifting uneasily again on the worn leather couch, a thin blanket draped over his waist, pooling around his thighs, his feet sticking rather comically out the bottom.

The perks of having a friend who's a baker I guess. He mumbled into the darkness. 

He knew the early hours of the morning was when Marco’s early shifts began. Mixing, kneading, proofing, and baking bread took a lot of time and patience. He noted, with a small smile, how fitting the job was for the gentle brunette. Marco was probably the most in control person he knew. He never, in his five years of knowing the guy, had seen Marco lose it. Heck, with patience like that, bread was probably his spirit animal or something.

Kicking his feet out and off the side of the couch, he stared back at his phone, grinding his teeth thoughtfully. 

He had to stop doing that. 

My dentist is going to kill me.

Eyes wandering beyond the small brick in his hand, Reiner let his gaze fall into the grey shade of his apartment, noting dully that at some point in the night he had lost a sock. He would have to find that later. Shit. Whatever. 

Marco: So…?

Reiner: I don’t know.

Marco: It’s really early.

Reiner: Couldn’t sleep.

Reiner: He’s in my bed.

Marco: Woah!

Marco: did you..?

Reiner: No. I’m on the couch. We watched a movie, he fell asleep. I let him have the bed.

Marco: That was nice of you.

Reiner: I know. I’m a gentleman Bodt. Don’t you forget it.

Marco: Gentleman may be pushing it….

Reiner: Hey now.

Marco: How’s the couch?

Reiner: Lonely.

It had been three weeks. Three weeks is all it took for him to fall that badly and that hard. Three weeks and now all he could think about was Bertholt.

Reiner never pictured himself as the romantic type. In most of his relationships, he had found that he was the one to pull away, his disposition was almost verging more on friendly than passionate or tender. He just didn’t have it in him. He never thought he would. But somehow this time was different.

He nudged the blankets up further. 

I need to do some laundry. Shit. Was that my last pair of socks?

He wouldn't call it love at first sight. Only first graders and kindergarten teachers believed in that bullshit anyways. But something about the way that guy just… was, it had drawn Reiner to him.

Like a moth to flame, that’s how the saying went… wasn’t it? 

Maybe it was the quiet, almost held back at times, docility of the guy. He was so sweet, and timid it made Reiner want to bundle him up and feed him soup. He wanted to wrap him in his arms and hold him when he was down, make him laugh, see his smile. 

He’s so cute when he smiles.

The weird part was, it wasn’t merely lust that he felt for the guy. Sure, he was cute, hot, he absolutely loved the way that his dark green eyes mingled with his when they were alone. Often times Bert would stare at his feet intently, rather than the speaker during a conversation. He was always like that, Reiner had gotten used to him. It was only until later, that Bert had began looking at him. When they were alone, comfortable. He relished in the fact that he had grown close enough to the other that Bert would even consider doing that.

Reiner loved his floppy brown hair, soft spoken voice, tanned skin, and good god those lanky legs really did him in. But in the entire time he had known Bertholt, as much as he wanted to grab his adorable face and smash it against his own with reckless abandon, Reiner, even more strongly, had also yearned for a deeper, emotional connection. And not just one of those wishy-washy, best friends, bros and buds kind of things. 

No. 

He wanted all out Titanic grade romance, the stuff you watched in the Notebook, and A Walk to Remember. 

And he didn’t care what Marco said, those movies were legendary.. 

The kind that made your chest hurt thinking about it for too long. the kind that made you do stupid things, act crazy, smile when there was nothing to smile at. 

Reiner wanted to wake up to Bertholt’s sleeping face at 5:00 in the morning and just look at it. His soft hair, lips, eyebrows, lashes, his adorable nose…

He wanted Bertholt to feel like he had a home in Reiner, a place he belonged. He wanted him to look him in the eye all the time, not just in quick moments of shared enthusiasm. As corny as it sounded, he wanted to be the person Bert went to when he was excited, happy, sad, scared.

Dammit, you’ve been watching too many romance movies.

There was this inexplicable pull that Reiner felt, drawing him closer to Bertholt as time carried on. The more hours they spent together, the more time he wished they had. He would say it was clingy, and probably a bit childish. But he just couldn’t help himself. Where Bert was concerned, there was no such thing as too much, and Reiner never was well known for his self restraint.

And so that’s where he was now.

Laying on his livingroom couch, while the other boy slept soundly behind the closed door of his own bedroom.

I know. 

Hot. 

Right? 

This is exactly how one goes about getting laid.

He knew Bertholt would only be scared away if he shared any of this with him. The taller boy had never shown any interest, whatsoever, in anything other than a platonic friendship with Reiner. This much, he we certain. Or, at least as certain one could get without a vocal affirmation of the thought.

That’s why he kept quiet. Gracefully sealing away any and all telling signs of his attraction. He saved it, stashed it, to be dealt with at a time and a place much further away from the now quietly dreaming brunette, sleeping soundlessly only metres from himself.

Cockblocked by my own door.

Gold eyes flitted to the closed door curiously, wondering for a moment, if maybe the brunette was awake. Would if be fair of him to go and check?

5:13 AM

Probably not.

Bzzz, bzzz.

Marco: So you like him.

It was a statement, not a question. Reiner stared at the screen, patiently awaiting Marco’s follow up text settling into the comfortable dark of the room. 

It grows on you.

Marco: Why don’t you confess already?

He knew this was coming, pressing down on the keypad as a cool dropping sensation unfurled in the pit of his stomach. 

He couldn’t. 

He never would.

Reiner: Can’t

Marco: Wanna talk? I’m not doing much.

Quickly flipping to the call screen, Reiner scrolled down a few. Having a friend whose last name started with B made Marco an easy find among his list of contacts. Hitting the blocky letters that spelled out “Marco Bodt” on his touchscreen, he held the thing up to his ear, settling lower into the couch as the dial tone picked up it’s monotonous drone.

It only took a few rings before he heard Marco’s familiar voice on the other side.

“Hey. Morning.”

“Hey.” Reiner smiled into the phone’s receiver. 

Regardless of the past he and Marco shared, their friendship had slipped by generally unscathed from their once well established relationship. This left the pair in a comfortable understanding that neither had to acknowledge. Thankfully, that allowed Reiner some room for breath when dealing with issues like this. 

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“Like I said.”

True, it wasn’t as if he had, experienced a feeling like this before, but Marco had been, and still was, that unmovable constant in his life, he could rely on him to at least talk him down from this. Voicing his thoughts did wonders to his psyche, and he got the impression that for Marco, he was the same. They had both, long ago, reached a comfortable state of unbiased understanding towards the other. That’s probably what made things like this so easy.

He shifted under the blankets. 

Shit, it’s actually kind of cold.

“You been up all night?”

“Nah, just now.”

The two had a shared past, and with that came an understanding of one another’s general dispositions. They needed no introduction or explanation to understand. It was easy to talk because that’s all you had to do. Talk. Often times words weren’t even necessary. They could go for hours without speaking, simply listening to each other’s silences, the empty space saying far more than they ever could. It made times like this comfortable. 

Thank god for Marco.

It wasn’t just that, though, that made Reiner so comfortable around the other boy. At other times they couldn't sit still. Rambling and prattling on like a pair of excited teenagers. They could idly chatter for hours without really talking about anything. It was fun, it was like they were still kids, and at the bottom of it all, he supposed that’s why they remained such close friends. 

They went to each other when things got bad. They talked when they needed to. Sometimes the pair would go months at a time without contact, picking up right back where they had left off only moments later, all rambly confessions and stupid ideas. 

They never made promises, they never made commitments. What happened in their own lives was theirs to control. That’s probably why they worked, with no expectations came no disillusion. 

It was a friendship Reiner valued, and one he would never trade. 

“All the mixers are going, I’ve got thirty minutes. What’s up?” Marco’s voice was calm and quiet, gentle, he always spoke like this when it was early. 

He remembered Marco explaining it once… Probably far more eloquent than he ever could.

It was just one of those things. 

Early mornings. 

They made you want to move slower, speak in whispers. Hanging onto that precious silence was more important than the most pressing world issues. When the Earth was sleeping and you weren’t, those were the delicate moments that touched on perceptions that could be shattered. The Earth’s slow revolve around the sun seems infinitesimal. It burns broken memories and billows like smoke. Everything’s as if it is coated in a gossamer quilt of spiderwebs, drawing out secrets like unapologetic oaths.

It was something about morning…

He could write fucking poetry.

Fuck you Marco.

Reiner let out a slow sigh, ears picking up on just how quiet his own home was.

Gossamer threads or some shit… what was it again?

 “I don’t know man.” He ran a hand over his face, pressing at his eye with the heel of his palm. “it’s like, I get all weird when I’m around this guy. And not in like, the he normal weird way.”

He could almost hear the sceptical eyebrow raise in Marco’s silence.

“What’s the normal weird way?” There was a hint of amusement in the other boy’s tone as he spoke. “I’m pretty sure that the definition of weird is anything but normal.”

Reiner let out a little huff, filling the phone’s speaker with a rough static. “You know what I mean man. It’s like, I try to act cool all the time and I end up looking like a giant douche.”

Marco’s soft laugh fizzled through the line. “You’re always a giant douche.”

“Hey! Be nice.”

A beat of silence filled the line before Marco spoke again. “Have you tried something other than acting cool. You know, just being yourself?”

Reiner smiled at that. “You know I’m always myself buddy, that’s not the problem.”

“So what is then?”

The blonde paused, opening his mouth to speak and finding no words. What was the problem? 

“I can’t tell him.” Reiner finally explained, allowing a woosh of air to fill the speaker as he sighed. 

He had always been one for honesty. And this wasn’t honest. It had been pulling at him from the start. True, he wasn’t directly lying to Bertholt by not telling the guy. They never brought it up. But it was a lie by omission. And that still made it dishonest.

Being open and truthful towards others was something he prided himself on. If that meant coming off a little rough at times, he was fine with it. It was a quality that he had never once considered a hindrance. Ultimately, it meant that his interactions, his experiences, were a lot more meaningful. 

But it was still meaningful...

Reiner valued the fact that he could be taken at face value. Sure, there was more to him than met the eye, of course! People were complex. A human’s identity was made up of far greater things than a first impression could ever portray. One could never fully understand a person without having known them beyond the superficial. Regardless, in general, as a human being, Reiner liked to think that others viewed him as the person he saw himself to be. Kind, caring, understanding, and most importantly, honest. 

And a damn good poet if he put his mind to it. 

Fuck you Marco. I can write.

“You can’t tell him…” A statement.  “Why not?”

“I don’t want to lose him, Marco.”

There was another silence at the end of the line. Marco, seemingly choosing his words carefully before he spoke again. “What makes you think you would lose him?”

“He’s quiet enough as it is. Anything like that, he’d probably…”

“mm-”

There was silence on both ends. Reiner pulled the phone from his ear and looked at the time 5:32. Would it be to weird to wake him up at 6?

“Anyways, I guess it’s all old news now, besides, I’d rather keep him as a friend. If that’s all I can be for him then I’m fine with it.”

There was a quiet laugh on the other end of the line, he could practically see Marco shaking his head in fond recognition. “Sounds like a bad romance novel if you ask me.”

Reiner wrinkled his nose in response. He had read his fair share of romance series in the past, and truth be told, he undoubtedly sounded like that pining schoolgirl in any piece of half decent fiction slapped with the overused label of “love story”. 

Gross.

“”Lame, huh?”

“Not lame, just… unfortunate.” Marco paused, Reiner assumed, to check the bread. “Anything I can do?”

“Nah man. It’s just good to talk about it, you know?”

Another soft chuckle. “Sometimes it puts things in perspective.” 

Reiner smiled into the receiver. His dilemma regarding the tall brunette didn’t seem nearly as bad when he voiced his thoughts out loud. He had forgotten what a help it was, venting, talking out your emotions. He just hoped it wouldn't always be like this. “Yeah.” Reiner breathed into the microphone with a loud sigh. “I should let you go then, hey?”

“Probably.” He could hear Marco moving around the bakery now. The sound of a convection oven opening, the woosh of hot air as the vacuum seal broke around the heavy metal door. Being a baker didn’t sound half bad now that he really thought about it. It was probably better than being surrounded by sweaty bodies most of the day. His career as a fitness instructor left a lot to be desired. 

“Hey Reiner?”

“Yeah bud?”

“You wanna meet up tomorrow? I’ve got a day off. You can bring him if you want.”

Reiner grinned feeling himself slowly ground from the dreamlike morning air that saturated the living room. “Only if you bring homeless guy.”

Marco laughed at that, sounding breathy and distracted. “Fine Reiner, just don’t do anything to embarrass me. I know how you get.”

The blonde barked out a laugh, quickly reminding himself of the early hour and shrinking back into his blankets. “What are you talking about? I’m a complete charm to be around!”

“Sure.” Marco’s voice was now dripping with sarcasm.

“Well I’ll let you go. Text me the details. I’ll make it work.” 

He heard Marco grunt in response, probably lifting something off the counter, as he balanced that stupid flip phone between his shoulder and ear. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll let you know.”

“Don’t die.”

“Ha ha. I’m hanging up now.”

“Don’t sprain your finger.”

And with that the connection went dead, Reiner, still grinning smugly into his phone. 

What a dork.

Placing his phone down on the nearby coffee table Reiner felt his lips quirk into a tiny smile. True, he’d been pining after Bertholt for so long he could hardly remember a time that he had been interested in any other boy, but at least he had his friendship to fall back on. If he was ever going to glean something even minimally positive from their relationship, it would have to start at that.

Rising from the couch, blankets falling soundlessly to the floor, he made his way through the darkened room to his bedroom door, placing a large hand on the cool metal handle.

Turning it slowly, the blonde opened it a crack, peeking into the dark room curiously as he held his breath. He could see a lump of blankets curled near the far corner of his mattress, soft breaths escaping the form at a slow rhythm as the tall brunette slept, dreaming the early hour away blissfully. Reiner stepped cautiously into the bedroom, closing the door behind himself as quietly as he could. The form under the covers shifted slightly, a sigh escaping from its confines as the blankets were pulled even further around the beautiful boy Reiner knew was buried somewhere beneath them. Hesitantly moving over the the side of his bed, the blonde sat down on the edge, tentatively taking in Bertholt’s quietly slumbering form in the dim morning light that somehow peeked through the curtains draped over his window frame. 

It’s not like he was being creepy, he just really wanted to see the other boy. Not creepy, just watching him sleep, not creepy.

Eyes tracing the faint outline of Bert’s profile, Reiner felt a familiar tugging in his own chest. God what he would do to just lean over and plant a good morning kiss on that adorable face. He allowed his mind to wander. Wondering with listless curiosity, what would it be like to wake up each morning, roll over, and wrap his arms around the boy slumbering quietly at his side. What would it be like to just lay there like that? neither needing to say a word, just lingering in sleepy contentment, limbs tangled like vines, intertwined around one another blissfully dreaming dreams only half as sweet as their shared reality. 

The blonde heaved a heavy sigh and reached over, hesitant to stir the contentedly sleeping pile of blankets, the top of Bert’s floppy brown hair splayed messily over his pillow. Reiner placed a hand lightly over Bertholt’s shoulder and gave the other boy a gentle shake. 

Twitching slightly, Bertholt’s eyelids fluttered open, green eyes slowly focusing on the ceiling before he turned his head to the side. Allowing a moment to rouse himself from his previously catatonic state, Bertholt held Reiner’s gaze neutrally, his eyes soft under the dusky light of morning. He took his time, focusing steadily on the wide awake blonde, Reiner’s hand still tentatively placed on his shoulder. As heavy eyelids fluttered between dream and reality, Bertholt’s face broke into a shy, sleepy, smile. 

Hand shifting from his shoulder, Reiner slowly trailed it down the other boy’s arm and back up. Breaking the silence with a soft voice “Hey. I know it’s early. But I’ve been awake for a while and was gonna make some breakfast. Do you want any?”

Blinking a few times as he slowly processed Reiner’s words, Bert propped himself up on an elbow, breaking eye contact as he glanced towards the other end of the bedroom. “Uh, you don’t mind?” He returned his gaze to the brunette, looking concerned and vaguely hesitant. It was always like this. The tall brunette had the tendency of answering any question directed towards himself with another question, usually in the form of “are you sure? or do you really want to?”. It was his way of being considerate, Reiner assumed, or maybe self conscious. Reiner had yet to figure the answer out, but Bertholt’s shy countenance suggested that it was probably the latter. He wondered briefly what the boy had gone through to make him so timid.

Reiner raised his eyebrows “No, not at all Bert. I’d love to cook something for you.”

Berthlot let out a little laugh, shyly averting his eyes from Reiner’s and smiling down at the blankets. “Okay then, I mean, as long as It’s not a problem…” He paused, pressing his lips together in thought before lifting his gaze once more, briefly meeting Reiner’s before flicking it to something else, just beyond his broad shoulder. “I could help, if you need it, or something…” Bertholt’s voice was still groggy and quiet, he spoke in a hushed tone as if he were afraid to wake some invisible sleeping entity hovering somewhere still in the pile of blankets at his waist. 

“Nah, don’t worry about it! Take your time waking up. I’ll let you know when it’s ready!” Reiner smiled boisterously, feeling a stupid giddy excitement about the concept of cooking for the lanky brunette. 

Bert watched him, his face set to his usual non-threatening expression that somehow achieved both deadpan and bashful simultaneously. It was a minor enigma of the modern world. Although, realistically speaking, pretty much everything about the tall brunette seemed to broach on that same basic premise. 

Leaving Bertholt to slowly wake up in the bedroom, Reiner made his way across the living room and into his kitchen, stopping at the fridge and swinging it open. The warm refrigerator light flickered on as it’s heavy metal door swung open, bearing the fruits of his admittedly sparse lifestyle rather harshly. Grimacing at it’s poor display, Reiner sifted through it’s contents. Wilted spinach, a block of slimy tofu, some flax seeds… Maybe he needed to do some grocery shopping soon. To he honest, the last time he had even bothered to step foot inside a grocery store was weeks ago. 

Reiner had been maintaining a rather static diet of VEGA protein shakes and overripe bananas. His diet, according to some recent health articles, seemingly beneficial for someone of his athletic stature, left a lot to be desired, at least regarding flavour. Grinding his teeth in frustration, the blonde all but slammed the refrigerator door shut. It looked like his plans of wooing Bertholt with outstanding qualities of culinary finesse was out of the question, leaving the blonde, standing in his own kitchen clad in sweatpants and a shirt that last fit him probably three years ago, and feeling rather disgusted at his current lack of anything remotely edible in the nearby vicinity. 

Another golden opportunity narrowly slipping away through untended fingertips. 

God dammit. 

Ducking under the built in countertop, the blonde rustled through as few jars and tupperware filled with various dry goods. Pulling a face as he pushed yet another can of lentils out of the way, Reiner let out a small relieved sigh, reaching as far back as he could and retrieving box of flour. Pancakes would have to do.

He went through the motions of constructing a pancake batter rather monotonously, ears steadily trained on the movement behind his bedroom door as he pulled out a couple measuring cups and a pan.

_Flour_

_Sugar_

_Baking Powder_

_Baking Soda_

_Salt_

_The pancake mantra_

Adding a few splashes of water to the concoction and a generous amount of vinegar, he grabbed a wooden spoon and began mixing. All attention on the still closed wooden barricade as he began mindlessly stirring.

What he wouldn’t give to be making breakfast for the gangly brunette every day of the week…

At that moment, the handle gave a slight turn and Reiner whipped back around to face the laminate countertop. It would probably be best if Bertholt didn’t walk in to find Reiner making seedy eye contact this early in the morning. He could picture it in his mind and had to grimace away from the image, hoping to god he looked nothing like the small drama scene playing out horribly in his head. He was thankful, at least, for not having thrown on an apron in his feeble attempt at impressing the boy now lingering tentatively in his doorway.

“Do you need help with anything?”

Glancing nonchalantly (or at least he hoped it looked that way) over his shoulder, Reiner flashed Bertholt a smile and turned his attention back to the now grossly over mixed batter in his aluminium mixing bowl. “Uh, no, I think I’m good… But thanks anyway”  
 _Shit._  
Bert moved noiselessly across the kitchen, stepping up beside him and gently leaned down on the smooth countertop, peering over curiously at Reiner’s work. “What are you making?”  
Reiner gave a half hearted laugh and set the bowl down, placing his pan on the stovetop and flicking it to “ON”. “Pancakes. Or at least, I hope that’s what they’re gonna end up being.”  
Bertholt smiled mutedly, eyes still on the bubbly batter. “Why? I mean, pancakes aren’t that hard to make…”  
“Oh, I know.” The stocky blonde smirked, watching as Bert shifted slightly his gaze sliding over to where Reiner was now standing. “I didn’t really use a recipe is all. Probably should have, come to think of it…” His last sentence came out in a low mumble, speaking more to himself than the brunette perched a few feet away.

Bertholt laughed none the less. “I’m sure they’ll taste fine.”

“Uh, yeah… Me too.” Reiner had to duck his head at that. The shy smile playing on the other boy’s lips was becoming too much to passively handle. He felt his face heating up and turned to wash his hands at the sink, needing something to do in attempt to hide the obvious flush now plastered all across his pale face. 

_What the hell? Pull yourself together Braun._

His blush having calmed down to manageable allowed Reiner to turn back to the stove, cleaning his throat and running a hand through his short cropp of hair as he glanced at the heating pan. 

_Why do i always have to be so weird around him?_

“So. I don’t know if you had any stuff to do today…” He paused, looking back over at the brunette, unmoved from his previous position. “-but I’m gonna head to the animal shelter later and volunteer. If you want to come with, I mean… you can.” 

Bertholt’s expression broke into another shy smile and he quickly glanced down at his crossed arms leaning against the countertop. “Uh, not really…” 

_oh_

Reiner felt his stomach drop “Uh- yeah- well that’s fine man, I mean, yeah, makes sense…” Why had he even bothered. Of course Bertholt had better things to do.  
“NO!” 

Reiner’s gaze shot up.

Bert now had a hand clapped over his mouth, eyes wide in shock. Clearly, his intent hadn’t been to speak so loudly. He looked adorable. The brunette took a moment to recover from his random spurt of enthusiasm before removing his hand and trying again “No… sorry, I mean I don't really have anything to do today. So, it sounds fun. I’d like to come.” He finished, smiling sheepishly and averting his gaze once again.

Reiner Smiled, the action coming close to splitting his face in half as he did so. He felt like his chest was full of helium and he was about to float away. Bertholt, his Bert, was agreeing to go out with him… Was this a date? Could he call this a date?  Oh god he wanted this to be a date. Reiner was so excited he had to consciously stop himself from shaking. “Awesome!! Okay! It’s a date then!” As soon as the words left his lips Reiner paled, realisation hitting him like a brick to the stomach. He immediately snapped his jaw shut and began grinding his teeth, eyes flitting to meet Bertholt’s in sheer terror.

_I HADN’T MEANT TO SAY THAT OUT LOUD!!_

He was internally screaming, had he just messed this all up?

Reiner’s hands had stilled of their own accord as he took in the other boy’s shocked expression. He was standing, stock still, leaning heavily against the polished counter top, a bewildered look of his own plastered heavily across his beautiful features.

Bert was the first to speak, breaking the silence as he hesitantly licked his lips, his voice coming out a soft and shaky whisper. “Uh… s-sorry, what?” 

Every fibre of Reiner’s being was screaming at him to run, you know, fight or flight, or whatever that shit was called. He wanted flight, oh good god, he wanted flight.

Reiner let out a shaky laugh of his own, his voice, coming out a fair bit deeper then intended. He cleared his throat. “Haah, uh, y-you know…” Bringing his arm up and scratching  nervously at the back of his neck to stall. His brain was running a mile a minute as Reiner desperately grasped and scrambled for a believable solution. 

_You just called it a freaking date! There is no believable solution!!_

“Well… I didn’t mean it like a date-date… you know?” 

_Yes you did._

He laughed again, trying to lighten the situation and miserably failing. “It just sort of slipped out. Uh, you know… people say that sometimes.”  
 _No they didn’t._

Bert continued to watch him. His expression set to a wide eyed shock as he observed the blonde flounder.

“I just- uh- I- um….”  
S _hit shit shit shit shit!_

“Uh… sure…” Was the quiet answer he received, finally shutting Reiner up to linger in his own panicked shock.  

“What?”

“People say that… I guess.” Bert was blushing now, eyes downturned as he hid under that familiar fringe of floppy brown. 

A long pause followed, Reiner, shuffling indecisively at the stove, as Bertholt stared intently at his own fingers.   
A cough.

“… so, uh…” Bert motioned to the still heating pan on the stovetop and looked up at him through the dark strands that fell loosely in front of his eyes.

“Right, pancakes….” Snapping himself out of the awkward lull he had boorishly stumbled into, Reiner grabbed the batter and hastily poured some into the pan, the mixture, making a satisfying hissing noise at it came into contact with heated cast iron. 

Bert smiled sheepishly.

_Crisis averted._

Reiner continued cooking as the taller boy watched in silence. He couldn’t tell if the still air that now stirred between them was more horrifying or contemplative. He chose to settle on the latter, praying to whatever gods were up there that his earlier comment hadn’t been the make or break of their still blossoming “friendship.” 

“So, uh…”

Bert’s eyes flicked up to meet his again and Reiner swore his heart was about to beat its way to Africa if he kept giving him that look.   
“Have you ever been to the shelter?”

The brunette glanced back down at the slowly growing pile of breakfast cakes and shook his head. “No. I don't even know where it is.” He flushed and hid his mouth behind the hand, propped loosely at his cheek. 

Reiner grinned and flipped the bubbling pancake with one swift toss of the pan. “Awesome! Well you’re gonna love it Bert!”  
“Do you go often?” He was looking at him again.

“Probably once a week.” Reiner beamed. “I try to go more, but-“ he trailed off with a dull shrug. “Life gets in the way, you know?” 

Bert gave an appreciative shrug and a nod before leaning back on his elbows. It was kind of comical, watching him now. Stooped low enough to rest on the laminate countertop, arms crossed with his chin resting in an upturned palm. It reminded Reiner a little bit of Polly Pockets, everything was just a little too small.

 

The two spent the remainder of the morning talking with relative ease. Whatever awkward air they had stumbled into had cleared as their conversation progressed to lighter topics and Reiner felt himself easing more and more into the comfort that was the gangly teen at his side. 

It felt like no time had passed when, soon enough, the two were pulling on their snow boots, scarves wound tightly around their necks, as they made their way out the door. 

Clenching his jaw at the cool air that bit into skin as they wound their way through thick snow covered streets, Reiner couldn’t help but entertain the notion of reaching out and taking Bertholt’s hand. True, it was so cold that even hand holding proved dangerous to the lurking threat of frostbite, but he would chance it, if it meant threading fingers with the shy and reserved brunette on his right. “

“Winter, hey?” Reiner grimaced against the cold, almost regretting opening his mouth, in fear it would freeze that way from the sinfully low temperatures.

Bertholt just gave a short nod in acknowledgement, clearly wise enough to keep his own mouth shut given their current circumstances.

Reiner inwardly cursed himself as they turned another corner, a wall of frigid wind billowing forth in attempt to knock them over with it’s own sheer force of strength. 

_I hate this god damned city._

As the two neared the shelter, it took everything Reiner had not shed a few tears of relief, mostly in fear of them freezing to his face, also probably because Bertholt was walking next to him. Actually, no, mostly because Bertholt was walking next to him, although he would be hard pressed not to admit that he really did fear the blatantly realistic horrors that were icicle tears. 

Pushing their way through the double set of glass doors blocking out the frigid temperatures, Reiner heaved a sigh of finality. If he could help it, the blonde would not be leaving the shelter any time soon.

“Reiner! Good to see you! it’s been a while.” A blonde sat behind the desk across the room, pushing a thin strand of wispy gold behind her ear as she smiled and stood.

“Yeah, sorry. Been busy.” Reiner replied, grinning as he covered the space in a few short strides and pulling he small girl into windblown hug. 

The girl smiled and let out a charming giggle, giving him a pat on the back with her tiny had as they pulled apart.

“How are you Christa?” 

Christa smiled and chanced a glance around Reiner, big eyes falling on the boy still standing by the doors. “You brought someone?”

“Oh!” Reiner turned back around, beaming as he gestured for Bert to join the pair. “Yeah, this is Bertholt. We met on campus a while ago..” The blonde laughed and scratched the back of his neck nervously, fingers beginning to warm up to the blissful temperature inside the small shelter. “I thought it’d be cool to show him the little guys.”  
Christa turned her warm smile to the other boy “Well, any friend of Reiner’s is a friend of ours. Please make yourself at home! we’re always happy to have more volunteers!”

Bert gave the small blonde a polite nod and meekly shoved his hands in his pockets.

Good god was he adorable.

“Well, you know what to do!” Krista turned her attention back to Reiner and gave him another one of her charming smiles before returning to the front desk with a cute little nod. “Have fun you two.”

Reiner gave a distracted smile and motioned for Bertholt to follow, leading the gangly boy through another set of double doors and into a room on their left. The warmth was heavenly, the smell, not so much. As he stepped inside, Reiner pulled a face, covering his nose with his arm and grimacing. “Woah, smells like ham in here.”

Another girl, kneeling at the end of a long line of kennels looked up from what se was doing and rolled here eyes dramatically. “Look who’s finally returned. We all thought you were dead Braun” 

The blonde gave a short laugh and pulled off his jacket, hanging it on a coat hook near the entrance and motioning for Bert to do the same. “I’ve been busy. Don’t tell me you weren’t relieved to have a few weeks alone time with Krista, Ymir.”  
The girl scoffed and closed the kennel she was working on, a small yelp coming from another further down. “Bring another lackey?” At this, she motioned to Bertholt, still quietly hanging up his own jacket behind Reiner’s broad shoulders. 

“Yeah, this is Bert. Bert, Ymir.” With the necessary introductions out of the way, Reiner stepped around the tanned girl politely, cutting their conversation short. “C’mere, I wanna show you someone.” 

He was obviously speaking to Bertholt as he moved through the kennels, dwarfing everything in his burly presence as he glanced backward. Bert smiled faintly and made to hastily catch up with Reiner, muttering a faint apology as he shuffled past Ymir. 

The freckled girl just rolled her eyes and left the room. Leaving the two, relatively, alone.

Nearing a section at the end of the row, Reiner’s expression softened, mouth growing into a wide smile as he opened up the little gate. “Awe, I thought you’d still be here little guy! Though I hoped you wouldn’t be…” Reaching in, the blonde  made a few cooing sounds and leaned on the liner, holding his hand out for some unforeseen creature in the depths of the container. “Hey buddy. You miss me?” His voice had grown soft and quiet, almost raising an entire pitch as he pulled back again, revealing a small pile of fluff bundled tightly in his massive arms it was almost comical, had it not been so cute. 

Berts eyes widened as they fell on the living puff ball. 

Reiner laughed, beaming proudly down at the creature now nestled snugly in his arms with a gentle fondness. 

“He’s been here for months. Nobody wants him, you know?” Shifting the creature into his hands, Reiner held the bunny up to Bertholt’s eye level, it’s big feet flopping in the air as he held it. “VanGogh, this is Bert.”  

A wide smile broke over the gangly boy’s face and his eyes shifted to Reiner’s, trying to suppress a laugh. “You named him VanGogh? 

Reiner grinned just as widely. “Yep. Kinda suited him, don’t you think?”

As if on cue, the bunny crooked his head to the side, it’s only ear flopping gracelessly against Reiner’s careful hands. 

“Yeah. It’s just kind of…”  
“Obnoxious?” The blonde finished, feeling his smile grow wider.  
Bert hid a laugh behind his hand and nodded, “Yeah, a little…”

Turning the bunny so that it was now looking Reiner in the eye, the blonde mimicked a scowl “Well you ARE sort of obnoxious Vincent…” He pouted dramatically at the quiet creature, still dangling between his palms “But I think you were before we named you anyways. So it’s really nobody’s fault but your own.”

The bunny just sneezed.  
Letting out another quiet laugh, Bertholt stepped beside Reiner and reached, tugging lightly on it’s floppy ear.   
The bunny shook it’s head and turned to Bert, nose twitching fervently as it’s feet kicked a couple more times, looking for something to stand on.

“I think he likes you.” Reiner’s voice was soft, eyes focused on the brunette at his side more so then that little creature wriggling in his hands.

Bert let out another soft laugh “I don’t know…”

“Wanna hold him?”

Bertholt blinked a couple times, face contorting to form an expression of hesitant curiosity. “Uh… I don’t want to drop him…”

“No. go ahead.” The blonde urged, shifting the bunny to his arms and turning so they were now standing face to face. 

“Are you-“ Bertholt let out a soft “oh” as Reiner grabbed his wrist with one hand, turning his palm up, and bending it at the elbow close to his body. The little animal was then shifted into his arms, Reiner’s hand remaining on Bert’s a few seconds longer then necessary. 

They were standing really close, like, _really_ close. 

Reiner shifted his gaze to look at the taller boy, now throughly preoccupied with keeping the little bundle of rabbit from jumping out of his arms. 

He watched the way Bertholt’s eyebrows raised in worry as he attempted to hold the bunny in place, finally settling on a secure enough position with a little huff. His mesmerising olive eyes were staring intently at the little creature, his beautiful mouth set into a soft frown. Reiner clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth together in contemplation.

_You weren’t gonna do it. Don’t do it Braun._

Bert let out a tiny gasp as the bunny nuzzled it’s way into his hoodie, snuggling ungently beneath the fleece lining. 

_Don’t you dare fucking do it._

Reiner almost lost it, nobody was allowed to be that cute.

_Stop looking at his lips._

“What happens if we-“ At that moment Bertholt’s eyes flicked up to meet Reiner’s, words dying on his lips as Reiner moved forward, closing the gap between them seamlessly. 

Bert, let out a muffled “mmph” through his nose as Reiner pressed their lips together, arm moving to loop around his waist.  

_WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?_

That small voice in Reiner’s head was screaming now, what was he doing? why? didn’t he decide long ago that this was NOT the best idea?

It was way too late to be thinking that way now, Reiner reasoned regretfully, he had already crossed this burning bridge, he may as well just go with it, wild flames and all.

It seemed over far too soon as the pair separated, surprise etched across the brunette’s face in every possible manner, his green eyes wide.

“You…” He could pretty much see the blush growing, from the corner of Bert’s ears, and quickly covering the remainder of his face.

“Bert… I, uh-“ 

Suddenly Reiner found VanGogh thrust heavily into his arms as he watched, staring helplessly at the quickly retreating form of one Bertholt Hoover, the door of the small room slamming shut with a resounding click as the object of his affections turned the corner and vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, i wanted to say a special thank you to everyone who has left such amazing messages for me regarding this fic.   
> I honestly never expected anybody to like this fic, but you are all so kind to me!  
> Thank you for your amazing words I am forever grateful.  
> ~Jelly


	11. Violet Hill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What one believes to be true can sometime be an honest mistake.  
> Miscommunication and errors, missteps and fumbles.  
> Finding your home in another, you thought you'd forgotten how good love feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was a long and dark December  
> From the rooftops I remember  
> There was snow  
> White snow
> 
> Clearly I remember  
> From the windows they were watching  
> While we froze down below  
> \---  
> [Tumblr](http://jellyfishsempai.tumblr.com)

A small jingle could be heard as the two stepped into the warm confines of yet another little organic coffee shop. The now familiar smell of roasted beans saturated the air with a caffeinated urgency that left Jean feeling like he had dove headfirst into an Ethiopian coffee plantation. 

Jean could swear, since moving in with Marco, he had entered every kitschy coffee shop in the city at least once. This one was much the same as the others, trendy, busy, a little pretentious. 

Black and white tiled floors, nostalgic ornaments of lifetimes passed, wooden tables and cozy furniture lined the toy covered walls. Well that was new at least. Jean noted with a dull sort of awed speculation, every inch of the place was adorned with mismatched collections of old vintage toys, license plates, letters, tools, the list went on… He was hard pressed to guess that under the seemingly random expanse of varying arrangements, there was probably a worn piece or two worth something useful. Had it been any other day, Jean would shamefully admit he was not above rooting through the colourful assortments for something of half decent value. But he was with Marco, overbearing, kind, and trusting Marco. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to step over the boundaries of trust he now held with that guy.

“Well this is… different.” The teen mused, pulling the back of his toque up to clear his vision of the thick knitted obstruction. The heat in the coffee shop was almost violent in it’s overbearing warmth, wrapping around the pair furiously and ridding them of the early morning chills still clinging to their jackets.

The light was dim and warm, casting Marco in a soft hue of delicate orange, his chocolate irises almost glowing in the soft ambiance. “I know, isn’t it?” Marco beamed, cheeks still flushed from the cold outside. He was practically vibrating, Jean had no idea why. Marco had been like this all morning. At this point, he figured it was only best to accept the fact, and move on. 

… and he was about to put coffee in this boy?

Acknowledging Marco with a slight shrug, Jean pushed his way past a few stick insect coffee drinkers, coveted in trendy knit sweaters and expensive pleather boots. “Because Leather is too cruel to the poor baby animals.” He heard one explain as she nibbled tentatively on a toasted turkey breast breakfast sandwich.  

Jean rolled his eyes, nearly suffocating in the amount of pretension growing thick in the air around him. He shouldered past another elderly couple, waiting patiently in line for their drinks, and towards one of the coveted groups of armchairs, somehow still vacant in the early morning buzz. Collapsing into it’s hideous red velvet with a loud sigh, Jean let his eyes flutter shut for a moment. He would probably never get used to the odd comfort that came from distressingly gaudy pieces of furniture, not that it really mattered. There was just something about the way that they built said items back in the day that seemed to satisfy Jean’s inner grandpa to an unyielding extent.

“Do you want anything?”

Eyes lazily opening to the sight of a rather flushed looking Marco standing above him made Jean’s heart skip a beat or two, or maybe four. The brunette was smiling at him with the sort of fondness one would only share with a close friend. Jean liked to think that it was because they had reached that point, but he couldn’t be too sure. Marco seemed to embrace every single stranger with the same brand of openhearted acceptance that Jean found nearly impossible to understand. This left the teen floundering with the age old question of “do you really like me? or are you just that nice to everyone?” Marco was still looking at him expectantly, reminding him a little of a puppy dog.

“Uh, only if you’re okay with it.” Came Jean’s response, perhaps a few beats too late as Marco’s expression had slowly changed, eyebrow now raised in silent questioning as the other boy shifted under his worrying gaze.

“Of course.” Another smile.

Jean knew it was only due to Marco’s kindness that we was still getting away with this act, the brunette had been spending money on him since day one. He would be lying if he said that the fact didn’t weigh heavy on his own, already battered ego. Although, he would also be lying if he denied  ever having secretly revelled in the lengths Marco was seemingly willing to go to in attempts to make Jean as comfortable as possible. Yeah, it was probably a little underhanded, but he could live with the guilt, if it meant spending the rest of his days with this freckled Angel, or whatever. Was that too weird?

“Okay.” Marco smiled that same goofy smile Jean had grown so accustomed to as he made his way towards the counter, graciously skirting around customers as they pushed busily past him.

Watching the boy politely weave his way through the group, Jean wondered just how exactly he got away with being so goddamned courteous to everybody. Sooner or later it was bound to catch up to him, right? Jean speculated, with vague interest, why the cheerful brunette’s seemingly optimistic life outlook hadn’t already been somehow jaded at this point. It took everything he had not to accept that fact that someday the idealistic 19 year old boy he now knew would be just as depressed and disillusioned as everyone else. Jean hated even considering the thought that Marco’s smile would ever be any less than the earnest beam or confidence it already was. He hoped to god it wouldn’t be him that ruined that smile. Then again, Jean did have a reputation for breaking beautiful things.

As he watched the top of Marco’s head from his spot in the armchair, he pulled off his beanie and ran a hand through the coarse, messy mop of brown he called hair. 

_I need to dye this…_

As he was observing some light sandy strands that came out with his fingers, Jean felt a rough bump on the back of his chair, jolting him upright as he spun to glare at the one responsible. “For fuck’s sake!” Jean felt the words die on his tongue as his eyes fell on the large blonde standing behind him, toothy grin in place of the scowl he had expected. He did not want to start a fight here, especially not with a guy that looked like he rivalled even the toughest MMA fighters. Holy hell, what did you even eat to look like that? And did he pull his eyebrows out on purpose? or did they just grow that way?

“You Jean?” The guy asked, grin forming into an inviting half smile with a touch of insecurity. 

_Who the hell was this guy?_

“Why do you need to know?”

With a hefty laugh, the blonde stepped around the chair, plopping himself down in the couch cushions across from where Jean was now openly gaping. “I’ll take that answer as a yes then. I’m Reiner.” The guy was grinning again, and Jean had a hard time resisting the urge not to find comfort in that weirdly warm smile he was putting off. Although his stature would suggest otherwise, this Reiner guy was radiating a sort of gentle approachability Jean had only seen in one other person. 

_Marco._

It was then that Jean remembered that morning’s conversation. Not that anybody could blame him, really. He remembered Marco mentioning something about coffee and friends. Jean recalled that at the time his mind vaguely noted, in it’s sleep addled state, that yes, Marco did indeed, apparently, have other friends. Not that he felt disappointed or anything… He wasn’t jealous. Not only that, he was definitely half awake when it happened, but Marco had woken him with a rough jostle at the ungodly hour of 8 in the morning. It was at about that point that Jean found himself cursing his fate for ever deciding to room with a baker, and an energetic one at that. It was Marco’s only day off for god’s sake! You’d think he’d have the common decency to sleep in like a normal human being.

Marco was definitely a morning person. 

Jean was definitely not. 

And it wasn’t just that either. Yes, he had been half asleep. Yes, it was way too early for any normal person to expect him to retain anything of significant importance other than where the coffee was. But it may have also been because he was maybe not focusing on what he should be been at that given moment. He was maybe not listening to Marco warble on about coffee with that “Reiner” guy, and going outside at -crazy degrees. Give a guy a break, Marco looked hot in sweatpants. He fucking did, and he wasn’t about to deny that. Facts were facts. People were hot, and Marco was one of them.

“- pillaging guy?”

“What?” Shit, he had not been listening to a word this blonde was saying.

Reiner laughed, loud and booming, and in any other setting Jean would find it obnoxious. Somehow it just seemed inviting. “You’re Marco’s homeless guy, aren’t you?”

Jean blinked a few times at this, giving his brain a moment to catch up with the turn this conversation had taken. “You’re the guy we were texting.”

Another laugh followed this one, not nearly as hearty as the last, but still oddly satisfying. He liked to laugh a lot didn’t he? “Yeah, that would be me.” Reiner leaned forward, muscular forearms resting on his legs as he did so. Jean speculated that in any other situation this guy would be terrifying. Right now if was just kind of funny. Reiner was almost twice the size of the armchair he was currently occupying. It reminded Jean a little of one of those miniature villages kitschy neighbourhoods built in attempt to reel in naive tourists and overzealous road trippers.

“Okay.” Jean was no master at social conversation during the best of times. People usually found him brash and off putting. Apparently this hadn’t changed during the time he had been living on the streets. Not that it really surprised him. 

Reiner just smiled and shook his head. “I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. Marco does stuff like this all the time.”  
Jean blinked, pieces fitting into place and he could swear he heard his own brain click at the realisation. “Hey, uh, what’s your last name?”

Reiner took the question in stride surprisingly well, not even faltering at Jean’s hasty change in conversation. “Braun, why? Know my double or something?” At this, he waggled his eyebrows, or at least, where Jean assumed his eyebrows would be, if he had any. Whatever, he waggled them.

Jean just let out a silent “ah”, and pulled his hands into the sleeves of his jacket. That massive letterman Marco kept wearing. It was his. Jean felt a small bubble of who knows what, flip in the pit of his stomach. Does that mean him and Marco-

“Next time, I’m not going up there alone.” A familiar voice cut through his thoughts, as Marco dropped a coffee mug down on the wooden table nestled between them, the drink making a light knocking sound as it hit the surface. Marco was now standing beside them, clutching two mugs to his chest and looking somewhat frazzled. “Carrying three drinks with two hands…”  
“Oh, sorry man, didn’t even think of it.” Reiner responded first, looking apologetic as he rose to lift one of the mugs from Marco’s arms.  
Marco gave him a thankful smile and placed the other one alongside Jean’s. “So I guess you’ve met each other then.” He responded, falling back into the remaining chair and pulling is toque off with a relieved sigh. Marco’s gaze flitted between the two, Jean, looking uncomfortable, and Reiner, well, looking like Reiner. Running his fingers through his hair to work out the hat hair, the brunette smiled. “Hopefully it didn’t get too awkward without me here.”  
Jean rolled his eyes mockingly, a smirk rising to his lips. “I think you’ll find we are both perfectly able to communicate without your freckled ass in the picture thank you.”

This earned another hearty laugh from Reiner who cast Jean an approving smirk of his own. This guy really wasn’t that bad. As much as Jean hated to admit the fact, Reiner seemed like an okay guy.  
“Nah, it’s all good. Thanks for the coffee though.” The blonde responded, picking up his mug and taking a giant gulp of the bitter brew, making a face as it made it’s way down. 

“It’s soy.” Marco responded before the blonde could say anything.

Reiner just gave him a thankful grin and set the drink back in it’s place. 

Jean’s eyes flitted between the two wearily. Reiner and Marco definitely did give off an odd sort of intimate air as they talked. Prolonged eye contact, weird body language… Jean would cautiously guess that it seemed more friendly than anything else, but could he be wrong? Even just going off of the simple fact that Marco still had, and wore, Reiner’s massive letterman suggested that there may have been something more between the pair. That curling sensation rose in the pit of his stomach again and Jean found himself secretly wishing that it was just his own imagination making things up where it shouldn’t be. 

Admittedly, he had never crushed on a person so hard before, so it’s not like he had much to go off of. Maybe he was the jealous type? His only prior experience being Thomas Wagner, Jean found himself trying to remember exactly how their relationship had even started. From what he could remember, him and Thomas had hooked up so quickly it felt, to Jean, like those feelings of attraction only started really developing as their relationship grew. Unfortunately that abandoned any previous indicators to the wayside, now leaving him stranded, to grasp at straws regarding whatever _this_ uncalled for interaction implied. 

“Why didn’t you bring him then?”  
Jean slowly tuned back into the conversation as Marco finished talking, holding his drink up to his mouth as he spoke, like a fucking nerd.

_A cute nerd._

Reiner’s face fell woefully into a heavy frown, his shoulders slumping visibly as he ran a hand through his short crop of hair. “I really fucked up.”  
Marco’s eyebrows shot up curiously, deep eyes trained on Reiner, waiting for him to elaborate as his mouth formed a soft “o”. 

Damn, he was giving this guy so much attention. Fuck it! He was fucking jealous.

_Look at me god dammit._

Jean flopped back in his own chair, deciding to indulge in his inner old man and tune out any and all distractions. If they were going to have their moment here, he would be no part of it. Crossing his arms over his chest, the teen watched Reiner tentatively. 

_Him Marco? This guy?_

Sure, Reiner was attractive, to some extent, but his general… burliness left a lot to be desired. Was this really Marco’s type? If that was the case, Jean knew he, of all people, had no chance. Sure, he may have been a hair closer to Reiner’s stature a few years ago. He had been part of the track team at his old school, he worked out… sometimes… But sleeping out in the cold with no food or shelter for a year sort of took it’s toll on his previously well toned body. Not really his fault he was a beanpole now, was it? 

_Well fuck me sideways and call me done. If that’s the case I may as well give up now._

Even as he told himself, he knew he wouldn’t.

“I thought it would be a good idea to take him down to the shelter, you know?”  
“You still work there?”

“Nah, volunteering, sometimes.”

“I’m sure they appreciate that. I know they all really loved you there.”  
Reiner gave a bashful laugh at that, rubbing the back of his neck before staring down at his (soy) coffee. “Anyways, took him to meet VanGogh.”  
“Oh! He’s still there?”  
“Yeah, not adopted.” 

Their conversation flowed like coffee and milk at the barista’s busy station, constant, warm, comforting, comfortable, everything Jean hoped it wouldn’t.

“I’d do it, but my landlord won’t let pets in, you know?”

Marco hummed thoughtfully into the side of his mug. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Anyways, thought I’d show the little guy to him. Animals, you know? Who doesn’t like them? I thought maybe he’d open up more, i guess?”

Reiner seemed bashful as he spoke. Something Jean didn’t expect to see the blonde expressing. Maybe he had been wrong…

“I guess so. Did he like it?”

What were they talking about anyways? Jean cursed himself silently for not paying attention.

“Yeah, Vincent really liked him, at least.” The blonde gave a shaky laugh, sounding more like one of those chuckles you release when you’re trying to convince yourself things aren’t that bad. Interesting. Reiner’s expression was looking more downtrodden than it should have. What the hell had he missed?

“Who’s Vincent?” Jean cut in, unable to just sit idly by and watch any longer. He wanted to ignore the guy, he really did. But Reiner just looked so fucking sad.

Reiner blinked a few times, realising that their conversation had revolved solely around him and Marco to this point and gave Jean an apologetic smile. “I work at an animal shelter on my days off.” He shrugged nonchalantly, as if this were a normal part-time hobby. “Vincent’s one of the unadopted bunnies I look after.”  
Jean had a hard time coming to terms with the word “Bunnies” coming out of Reiner’s mouth that he almost missed the second half. It was just too fucking hilarious. This guy was definitely not one to follow up on usual first impressions. He worked with bunnies and drank soy milk for god’s sake! Reiner was seeming more and more like a bleeding heart female activist instead of the rough and tough manly man he had assumed him to be. It would be fucking hilarious if it wasn’t incredibly sweet.

_God dammit, this dude is perfect._

Marco was giggling now, shoulders shrugged up to his ears, mug still placed in front of his face. He looked like a fucking schoolgirl and Jean wondered for a moment where the testosterone in the room had run off to. 

“What are you laughing at?” He groused, shooting a half hearted glare at the jovial brunette. Marco’s hair was still sticking up in awkward places, as if protesting to the removal of his stupid toque and Jean leaned over, absently brushing the clump down himself. 

“The look on your face was priceless.” Marco responded with a playful grin, slightly leaning into Jean’s hand before it was pulled back quickly. 

Jean, realising what he had just done with a sort of mortified horror. Marco didn’t seem to notice. “Whatever.” He muttered, shrinking back into the armchair and taking a long sip of his own bitter coffee. He grimaced. 

Reiner laughed heartily at that. “A lot of people look that way when I tell them. Don’t worry about it.”

“No offence, you just look sort of…”

“Intimidating? Scary? I’ve heard most of them before. I know.” The blonde chuckled again. “I like to think that makes me a good role model, or something.” He followed this with a casual shrug and picked the mug up again, taking another polite sip. “People see me and think I’m some kind of big jerk, I can prove them wrong. It makes people think twice about their stereotypes. I think that’s a good thing.”

Jean just nodded vaguely. Was this guy for real? “Sure…” Role model? Breaking the social norm and all that shit? How old was he even? What the hell.

“Oh, but yeah.” Reiner’s picked up his explanation without falter. “Vincent’s missing an ear,” He motioned to his own with a sort of thoughtful shrug. “which is why he hasn’t been adopted, I think. But that’s why he’s called VanGogh.”  
Jean gave him a blank stare, earning another laugh from the blonde. 

“VanGogh the artist? the one who painted Starry Night?”  
Jean blanked. “Sorry, I’m not really an arts guy.” 

This just earned another chuckle. “Well he cut off his own ear somewhere along the line and sent it to his girlfriend. Kind of a weird thing to do, but that’s where his name comes from.” 

Jean pulled a face. “Gorss. no wonder all artists are crazy.”

Reiner laughed again. “You’re telling me man. Did you know Dali was obsessed with anteaters? He actually threw one at Lillian Gish, on live television! Man, I would pay good money to have been there when he did it. Apparently she was furious.”  
Marco laughed.

Jean just blinked. “What the hell?”

The blonde gave a spirited shrug in return. “Like you said, artists are crazy. Can’t really blame the guy for living up to his name on national television.” 

Marco had to cover his mouth with his hand now, struggling to reign in his own fit of giggles. Throwing Jean an amused grin in the process. He was still grinning by the time he managed to speak again. “I wonder if they do it on purpose sometimes.”  
Reiner nodded enthusiastically. “There are so many weird stories like that. How could they not? I would.”

“Acting like a jerk in public? I should become an artist.” Jean speculated with a grin.

“Yeah, you’ve already got the first part down perfectly.”

Jean shoved Marco roughly, earning a muffled protest as the brunette edged away, still laughing as he returned it with a light kick to his arm. 

“Hey get your shitty boot away from me!” Jean swatted at Marco’s retreating leg, only to have it return with a vengeance.

Reiner watched the two for a moment, eyebrow quirked in silent inquiry as they batted at one another from across the armchairs like kittens. “I feel like Im interrupting a private moment here, but how did you two meet anyways?” He chided, eyebrow raised, drawing the pair’s attention back real conversation, instead of the childish scuffling that had been taking place up to now.

Marco sobered quickly enough, still frozen arms over his face, eyes now turned to Reiner as the blonde spoke, cutting the pair off rather effectively. Lowering his arms and giving Jean one more playful shove,he smiled, the expression lighting up his entire face. “Jean was hanging around the bakery for a few months.” Marco explained, looking back to the other boy fondly, who had now righted himself as well and returned Marco’s smile with a small one of his own. “So I just sort of started giving him the stuff we didn’t sell at the end of the night.”

“Jesus, Marco.” Reiner rolled his eyes, grinning amiably. “You’re way too trusting of strangers sometimes.”  
Marco just blinked, wide eyed at that. “I don’t see what you mean, but… is there something wrong with that?”  
This earned an exaggerated eye roll, followed by a loud sigh evaporating like mist from the stocky blonde. “I just mean, you have to be careful about the company you keep. No offence Jean. I don’t mean you. Just, you never know. Right?”

Jean just gave an understanding shrug. Marco’s willingness to trust most anyone baffled him as well.

The brunette in question just let out a soft scoff, still smiling despite his best efforts to look upset. “I know that. I don’t know why you guys keep thinking I can’t tell the difference between those two things. But trust me, okay?” His eyes wandered back over to Jean, now leaning comfortably in the armchair. The younger, quietly observing Marco as he spoke. “I wouldn’t have let Jean stay with me if he wasn’t trustworthy.” Marco hadn’t stopped looking at Jean when he said it. Something about the look he was giving him made his heart do that thing again.  
Jean bit back an amused sneer as his brain slowly registered Marco’s explanation. Hadn’t he been the one to steal his wallet and, subsequently, a good amount of his money in the process of Marco’s belligerent attempts at bleeding-heart selflessness? He kept his mouth shut, unwilling to share that episode with the blonde across from them. Probably for the best too, because Reiner was just shaking his head now. Marco’s words, clearly having no effect on his already constructed arrogation of the boy. 

“Sure, sure, you just never know. Amirite?” He smiled back at Jean now, all teeth and confidence. 

“Yeah, something like that.” 

Marco sighed and fell back into his own chair in defeat, rubbing his temple in mock frustration. “I know you’re just worried but it’s fine. You’ve met him now anyways.” He peered back a Jean from under his fringe of dark brown, the corner of his mouth quirking into a little half smile.

His heart sputtered, missing a few beats before catching up again.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll give you that much. This one’s fine Bodt.” Came Reiner’s amused response.

Jean felt his face flush a little, people didn’t usually approve of him on a good day, and this guy was here telling Marco he made the right choice in letting him stay? Where did these people come from? Either he had some very skewed ideas about the true nature of normal humans, or Marco and his circle were out of some scene from one of those unrealistic slice of life Korean drama fictions. 

Marco just giggled. “So VanGogh.”  
“Oh. Right.” Reiner pulled his mouth into a soft frown, sighing for a moment before continuing. “Anyways. The bunny…” He leaned forward again, golden eyes focused on his mug, now leaving coffee rings on the polished surface of the table. “So I gave VanGogh to him to handle for a bit. Didn’t really think much of it, but we were standing so close… like, he was right in front of me.” Reiner let out another heavy sigh, weary with something that resembled heartache. 

Jean should know, he’d been sighing like that for a little over one year. 

“So I kissed him.” 

_Wait, what?_

He definitely had to learn how to pay attention.

Marco let out a contemplative “hmm.” As the moment settled into a smooth silence around them. 

Reiner, gazing forlornly at his (soy) coffee.

Jean, mentally struggling to piece together the conversation they had previously been having.

And Marco, mouth covered by the edge of his mug, once again. His brown eyes staring thoughtfully through whatever thick murk had somehow descended upon their little group. “What did he do then?”

Reiner lowered his head even more and rubbed at his face with both hands. “He ran away.” came the muffled response, the blonde’s face now buried shamefully deep within in his wide palms.

“Shit man. That’s rough.” Jean mumbled, watching the guy with a slight note of sympathy. Even he understood how tough it probably was on the guy, to be turned down so abruptly by the one you liked. 

He glanced over at Marco.

He hadn’t moved from his spot yet, remaining still as a statue, seemingly mulling over the options. “That was… yesterday?” Marco finally pressed, eyes refocusing as he spoke, to look directly at Reiner.

Reiner just gave a defeated nod. A high pitched squeal of frustration rising from his slouched form.

Jean did the best he could not to laugh, given the situation. But that shit was funny.

“Have you talked to him? Has he talked to you?” Marco seemed to be the only person keeping it together right now.

“No.” Was his only reply.

The brunette frowned again, accompanying it with an adorable huff that was equal parts mad as it was cute. “Well you should Reiner. Avoiding it is only gonna make things worse.”

The top of Reiner’s head made something along the lines of a nodding motion in response to Marco’s words. Half heartedly accepting them for what they were.

“And until you do, I don’t think you really have to right to whine about it all that much. You kind of brought it upon yourself, you know.”

Reiner just nodded again.

Jean let his gaze wander between the two. Usually he would be one to throw his head back and make fun of the guy, this time though, he really didn’t feel the need to. 

His own experiences over the previous months had made him nothing if not a tad more empathetic to those in similarly distressing dilemmas regarding relationship issues. He had to wonder if, in retrospect, his separation from Thomas had been good in it’s own way. He definitely wouldn’t have met Marco. To be honest, by this point, Jean was having a hard time picturing a future without the freckled brunette somehow interwoven into the fabric that would soon unravel as time carried on, whatever that maybe. As daunting and threatening as the situation presented itself, at least now, Jean felt like he had one. And maybe it had become something to look forward to. Marco did keep mentioning school. Admittedly, as much as the thought of delving back into that heinous hive of mindless academy goers seemed to put Jean off. The offer didn’t seem half bad. He wasn’t that far behind on his studies, and honestly, he liked to think that there may be a time when he didn’t have to rely on Marco for every little thing. The thought of paying the guy back, in full, seemed far more appealing then any other option currently available to him. So what if he’d be doing it for years to come. If nothing else, it served as an excuse to keep the freckled boy as close as possible for as long as necessary. 

Leaning a hand on his cheek, Jean allowed his eyes to wander back to Marco, still thoughtfully chewing on the rim of his porcelain mug, brow set in deep concentration as he whole heartedly approached the situation between Reiner and this “Prince Charming” of his. The brunette was staring absently now at a stupid mask pinned behind the armchair of the downtrodden brunette. His wide brown eyes still in stark contrast with the tones and hues of the recently settled coffee house. Marco’s hair was standing up in weird places again, and Jean had to almost physically restrain himself this time from reaching out and gently caressing the boys hair like the lovestruck idiot he seemed to have become. 

Maybe he was the fucking nerd.

After a few moments of sympathetic silence Reiner let out a contentious moan and straightened back up, rubbing his face with his hands once more and giving the two an apologetic stare. “Anyway, not your problem. Mine. That’s why he’s not here.”

Marco let out another small hum, still distracted, either by the stupid mask, or his friends problems.

Jean just shrugged. “Whatever man.”

Reiner gave Jean a thankful nod and finished the rest of his coffee. “Either way, life goes on.  
 He followed this with an unstable laugh and got to his feet. “I’m getting another one. You guys want anything? My treat?” 

“Surprise me.” Was Jean’s nonchalant reply, impressed at how quickly the guy could switch back from devastated fool to considerate moron. The idiot part was interchangeable.

“Marco?”

Marco blinked a few times, reining himself in, back from his thoughts. “What? Oh, yeah, fine.”  
Reiner rolled his eyes, looking at Jean as if to say “This guy.” And made his way off to the counter, his movements surprisingly elegant for someone so large.

“So, mind explaining the whole Reiner thing?” Jean turned back to Marco, who had drifted off to contemplation land again. Marco’s brown eyes, settling back on Jean’s as his voice cut through the brunette’s delicate concentration, flicked back to conscious understanding and he let out a small sigh. 

“Oh, what happened just now?”  
Jean scoffed. “I don’t see any other Reiner here.”  
Marco just gave him a small smile in return, leaving Jean to wonder how on Earth the guy put up with him so passively. Any response like that would have sent Jean reeling at the first chance he got. 

“Reiner’s been kind of… smitten with this guy he met for a while now.” Marco explained. His voice casual, as he glanced back at the space the blonde had occupied mere moments before.

“Okay…” Jean pressed.

Marco took a breath, that small smile making his voice spill out warm and understanding. “He had been to afraid to say anything, last I heard, which was yesterday.” He pulled his face into a soft frown. “I guess he kind of skipped that step instead and went straight for first base.” Marco chuckled, returning his gaze to Jeans as he spoke.

Jean gaped. “On purpose?”

“Probably not.” Marco was looking at him with those warm eyes again. Deep chocolate brown orbs set amongst a bright constellation of freckles painted lavishly across his cheeks. 

“That’s rough.” Jean mumbled his amber eyes trailing back over to where Reiner stood. He could see him now, conversing spiritedly with the lady behind the bar. Both of them laughing at something Reiner had said only moments before. Jean had to give it to him, he certainly lived up to that “role model” standard he set for himself. 

“He’s a bit of a drama queen.” Marco reasoned with a shrug, dragging Jean’s attention back with his voice, cheerful and gentle amongst the dull din of their fellow coffee drinkers.

“He’s… nice.” 

Marco laughed, crinkling his nose and giving Jean a look he couldn’t quite decipher. “He grows on you.”

Jean just replied with a short shrug.

“I just checked the time and I gotta go.” Reiner’s voice wafted up to meet the pair as he approached again, this time holding three to-go mugs in a coffee holder. He motioned towards them with the cardboard and did something along the lines of a meek shrug. Or, at least, as meek as a guy like Reiner could potentially get. 

“Oh, what’s up?” Marco asked, straightening in his seat and looking to the blonde curiously. 

“Gym.” Was the single syllabled response he got in return.

Jean almost scoffed at that. 

_Figures_.

“Well, okay. Have fun, I guess.” Marco beamed, graciously accepting the two cups from Reiner’s big hands and setting them between himself and Jean.   
“I got to-go, in case you guys weren’t interested in sticking around once my beautiful mug was out of the picture.”  
Jean actually did scoff this time, earning an accomplished simper from the burly blonde before he gave him a hearty pat. This caused Jean to pitch forward, involuntarily catching himself on the coffee table at the last moment. 

“Nice meeting you man.”  
Jean just returned the gesture with a half hearted smile, unsure as to wether the previous action was friendly or ominous. 

“See ya Marco. Watch yourself.”

Marco rolled his eyes and stood to give Reiner a one armed hug. “You know I always do.” He responded warmly as the two separated. Jean’s eyes never left the pair as they spoke, watching their interaction intently. It was irrational to get jealous at this point, wasn’t it? But Marco’s hand was still on Reiner’s arm and Reiner was still touching his shoulder.

_Just let him go goddammit_.

Irrational. It was irrational.

“Guess I’ll see you two later.” Reiner announced, finally dropping his arm from Marco’s shoulder and giving Jean one last smile.

Jean found it hard not to growl protectively in return, instead, opting for a more neutral approach of conveying his emotions through nodding twice. _Fuck you._ If he made up a language now, it was still an insult. Two nods, meant fuck you Reiner.

The blonde just smiled and made his way towards the exit, turning to give them another hearty farewell before disappearing into the sinfully desolate expanse that was Trost at wintertime.

“You wanna stay for a bit?” Marco was already resuming his spot in the momentarily abandoned armchair, grabbing up his drink and blowing at it’s rim, steam now coiling into the shop’s dry air. 

Jean shrugged, retrieving his own drink and frowning down at the concoction. Reiner had got him some sort of flavoured latte. “It’s cold out there. What do you want to do?” He took a sip. 

_It’s not really that bad…_

Marco let out a soft hum, eyes wandering to the steam that tapered, leading his vision to land on something near the ceiling. “I don’t mind staying here a while longer if you don’t.” He smiled sheepishly. “Mostly, I don’t want to go back outside.”  
“I hear that.” Jean replied, slouching back into his chair, allowing his eyes to fall shut for a moment, revelling in the comfortably intimate air their conversation had taken on. “Trust me Marco, if I had my way I wouldn’t be going outside in the first place.”  
Marco laughed at that as a smile rose to Jean’s lips, reacting to the dazzling sound that bubbled from the other boy’s mouth almost automatically. Jean loved that laugh. He was glad Marco  shared it so readily.

The rest of the day slipped by them, lazy, uneventful, warm, save for the endless amounts of hot beverages that filled their cups, and Marco… Marco’s laugh, Marco’s voice, the simple way he responded in hums and that adorable thing he did when Jean said something stupid. Scrunching up his nose and batting him playfully with his sock covered foot, boots long ago abandoned in favour of a more comfortable position on the worn recliner. Jean couldn’t recall a time he had been happier to just sit there and listen.

If somebody had asked him, not three months ago, if spending his entire day in a coffee shop sounded appealing, he would have done one of two things; Scoffed and asked them if they were offering him money to do so, or rolled his eyes and replied with a vehement “no.” Yet here he was, curled away in the corner of one of those independent cafes he previously resented, the kind selling indie band labels and used novellas. The ones with those stupid poetry reading posters plastered everywhere across the walls, exhibiting help wanted for things ranging from lead singers to active protestors. The ones with tacky board games and local artists, filled to the brim with hopeful writers and weary students. Here he was, giggling like a six year old and playing footsies under the tabletop with a boy from another world. A boy who had simultaneously saved him and ruined him by extending an empathetic hand and a place to stay. If somebody had asked him months ago, if he’d ever be happy again his answer would have been the opposite of what it was today. 

The two rambled on for hours, finding comfort in each other’s voices reverberating off of the toy covered walls. The air was thick with wistful anecdotes and coffee beans. The melancholy thrum of acoustic music worked it’s way into Jean’s skull and they chattered, branding his cognition with vivid images of vibrant laughter, freckles, and the colour of chocolate. It was something short of a small miracle Jean was thankful to have been graced with. What had he ever done to deserve a second chance like this? 

As the pair sat, talking over empty paper cups and full hearted reveries, morning curved to afternoon, the two boys still content, settled right where they had been hours earlier. Each nestled in their respective armchairs, drinks long forgotten in exchange for each other’s companionship. Eyes glued to one another as if the outside world had no matter in their private musings. The light outside grew steadily darker and Marco checked his watch for the first time since morning.

“Wow, Jean, it’s almost 7:30.” He laughed, looking back up to the other, eyes glistening with mirth. “We’ve been sitting here for almost ten hours!”

“No wonder the baristas keep giving us weird looks.” Jean smirked, casting his gaze towards the young girl who had been staring at them every couple of minutes, a weird expression accompanying her astonished face. 

“They probably want us to leave.” Marco smiled, a small giggle accompanying his already amused manner as he followed Jean’s gaze to the girl behind the counter. “I feel kind of bad. Why didn’t they just say something?”

“I don’t know.” Jean shrugged half heartedly grabbing his beanie from the tabletop it had been abandoned on and pulled it over his mop of sandy brown. “Maybe it was racist?”

Marco balked “Racist?” 

Jean just gave him a haughty grin and returned to bundling himself up, wrapping on the countless layers he had so diligently piled on early that morning, one after the other, in quick succession.

“I’d feel bad not leaving a tip or something now.” Marco worried, following suit and beginning the arduous task of getting prepared for the elemental battering they were about to receive. Winding a scarf around his neck, the brunette rose to his feet, feeling around in his pockets for any loose change.

“Don’t feel too bad.” Came the other’s response after a moment, struggling to zip his own jacket up with impromptu haste. Jean let out a little snarl as the zipper finally caught and he was able to close the jacket properly. “You’ve dropped a small fortune on coffee alone, I think they can cope without you giving them a tip.”  
Marco just gave him a concerned shrug and resigned the task of rooting through his pockets. “Maybe, but that doesn’t really go to the employees.”  
“That’s what minimum wage is for.” He responded, reaching over and giving Marco a light scuff over the head.

The freckled teen just laughed in response, burying his face in the material of his thick scarf and glancing wearily at the other over it’s confines, mittened hands raised, holding the knit up as a sort of shield. “Okay, okay I get it.” 

Jean just grinned in return, nudging the other boy with his shoulder before heading towards the door, Marco following close behind. Both boys braced themselves as they stepped into the winter’s chill. Marco, exiting the building with a thoughtful “thank you” over his shoulder as the door slid shut.

 

They were sitting knee to knee, eating macaroni out of the pot again. Both boys, situated on the floor, Marco’s long legs crossed over themselves, indian style, as he scooped out another glob, this time it was tomato sauce. 

“Well I don’t see why it can’t be both.” He said, eyes following the trajectory of spoon to mouth instead of the sandy haired youth sitting opposite him, idly chewing on his own mouthful of marinara drenched pasta. 

“I’m sorry, but I said only one.” Jean replied, brandishing his utensil with a vengeance at his roommate, causing Marco to let out a little shriek as some leftover sauce hit him in the face.

He was giggling now, through his own mouthful of noodles, clearly struggling not to choke on the pasta. 

Jean just rolled his eyes, a satisfied smirk playing on his thin lips with mocking accusation. 

“I’m sorry, but discussing the finer points of a water gun battle to the death, is not worth you launching tomato sauce at my face.”

Jean just rolled his eyes in response, throwing his spoon in the pot and leaning back on his hands. “So hey, Marco…” Jean tried his best to sound casual, keeping his voice level, his heart beginning to flutter as he took in the sight of the freckled boy.

Bringing his eyes up to meet Jean’s as he wiped at the spot on his face now splattered in sauce, Marco raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”  
Jean averted his gaze and stared at the floor focusing intently on where their knees touched. He found an odd sort of comfort in the contact, feeling Marco’s heat radiate through the denim of his jeans. If he was ever going to ask him it may as well be now. Jean brought a hand to the corner of his mouth, idly scratching his cheek as he tried to look everywhere but at the unsuspecting boy in front of him. “You and Reiner…” He started, feeling regret as soon as the words left his mouth.

_There was no going back now._

“You guys weren’t maybe…” Jean trailed off his voice feeling thin, unsure how exactly to voice his question, afraid, maybe, of what Marco might say in return.

“Dating?” Marco finished, Jean could feel his dark brown eyes, now set steadily on his own reclining figure. 

The sandy haired teen blushed and continued to stare at the ground, giving only the slightest of nods to acknowledge his in return. 

“We were. Was it that obvious?” Marco sounded oblivious as he spoke, a small laugh following his amused tone.  
 Jean felt the blood, hot in his face, begin to still. He knew it. The revelation didn’t really surprise him. More over, it just awakened a new flood of questions. Ones Jean probably didn’t want to press, in fear of being found out himself. 

How stereotypical would it be for Jean admit having fallen head over heels over the boy who showed him just a tiny bit of compassion? Pathetic, that’s what he was, he had no trouble accepting that fact. Shameless, as he was to admit, Marco had turned his world upside down dumping him back on square one where any form of romantic understandings were concerned. 

Sure, he and Thomas has shared something extremely intense in the amount of time they had together. Jean would have called it love. But who was he to understand the complex desires of the human heart? He would still never admit how close any song by Coldplay would bring him to tears in a matter of milliseconds, or how melancholy he would get simply by hearing the hollow sound of an acoustic guitar in the still evening air. They had shared something but Marco was different. He never felt that same solid assurance the wide eyed brunette seemed to so often radiate. Or that warm understanding and earnest faith… Marco was different.

“Is there anything else?” Marco’s voice remained steady as he spoke, pulling Jean from his own funnel of self depreciation in time to hear the question.

“Just…” Jean heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his hair nervously. “Were you guys serious?” Eyes flitting back up to meet Marco’s, Jean approached the situation with trepidation. He was sure skirting the issue would have no worthwhile effect, but he couldn’t help but indulge in that small bubble of doubt that still lingered at the back of his brain. 

_What if Marco was still in love with the guy? Or lust… or, whatever that had been…_

Marco hummed softly, eyes rising to the ceiling as he took his time in answering the question, Jean fidgeting nervously all the while, his mind turning possible answers over and over, hoping for the best and expecting the worst.  
“Reiner and I were never really serious, I guess…” He finally responded, voice distant, Jean assumed, remembering. “I mean, we called it dating, and for all intents and purposes I guess that really did serve as an easy explanation.” He murmured, still gazing thoughtfully at the air above Jean’s head. 

_All intents and purposes? what the hell does that mean?_

“You’re making it sound like you two were more friends with benefits than anything else…” Jean groused, forcing a smirk to his lips. Trying so desperately to pull the conversation back to some obscure brand of comfortable. Anything other than where it was right now.

Marco blinked, his eyes looking huge in his skull and they lowered to meet Jean’s. “I never really thought about it that way, but you’re sort of right…” 

Jean gulped, this was not the brand of comfortable he had intended. “Wh-what?”  
“No, i mean we sort of were, I guess…” The brunette carried on, all observations of Jean’s current rattled state going unnoticed as he quietly observed his own relationship, apparently having some sort of life altering epiphany. 

“You’re not kidding then…” Jean’s voice came out in barely a whisper now, staring at the other boy, slack jawed in complete awe. He never would have pegged Marco as the type guy to have a friend of that sort, accidentally or not.

Marco blinked, returning his focus back to Jean. “I guess it just never really dawned on me. But yeah.” He shrugged nonchalantly before flushing a deep red and quickly staring at his own feet, realisation, apparently hitting him in one fell swoop.

“Wow Marco… I can’t say I saw that one coming…”  
Marco just shrugged, a little self consciously, before sheepishly pulling at a string sticking out of the old carpet he had been staring at. 

Jean’s heart stuttered as the realisation hit him. 

Clearing his throat Jean leaned forward and nudged him with his toe. Marco jumped, but looked up, eyes locking with Jean’s who held his gaze intently. “So, let me get this straight then…” 

The brunette slowly nodded, clearly unsure as to where this conversation was going. 

Jean bit his bottom lip thoughtfully before continuing. “You had a casual relationship with your _friend_ , Reiner?”

Marco nodded again, eyes still set on Jean’s. He was blushing fiercely, but impressively kept his nerve, watching as the younger boy spoke.

“Sooo,” Jean stalled, trying to collect his thoughts into something more coherent before his thudding heart did away with them completely. “Does that mean that you’re open to doing,” He coughed, averting his gaze momentarily. “ _That_ …” His eyes flitted back to Marco’s, effectively pinning the freckled brunette to the spot with his stare. “With just anybody… just for the heck of it?” 

Marco’s eyes widened as he listened, his face growing redder, if that was even possible, with every slowly spoken syllable that left Jean’s tongue. “I mean… if you knew them… or something.”

The gap between the pair was minuscule, and Jean didn’t notice he had been leaning forwards until he felt Marco’s breath on his face. Marco must have been holding it, because it felt hot and all too real on his skin at that very moment, sending a sharp pang straight to his groin. Jean’s heart thudded in his chest as he observed the smattering of freckles adorning Marco’s cheeks, he had no idea there were actually so many.

“I guess it sort of depends.” Marco breathed, voice, barely a whisper as it carried between the two, relinquishing the need to keep a steady volume as their proximity no longer called for it. 

“Depends on what?” Jean murmured, eyes flitting momentarily down to Marco’s lips.

They were holding each others gaze now, unblinking. Chocolate, bleeding into amber, pooling in the intensity that saturated the very air in which they sat. 

Marco hummed, his voice low and hushed, the sound sending shivers rippling down Jean’s spine. “Depends on who’s asking.” He replied, still in that quiet tenor that made Jean’s heart do a little stutter before dropping to the pit of his stomach. 

Jean licked his lips hastily, mouth growing dry at the implications of Marco’s statement “So… what if I’m asking?” 

He could almost feel the brunette falter at that, his breath stuttering for a moment before somehow regaining his composure. Evening himself quickly enough to catch and hold the heated air that had almost instantaneously built between them as they spoke. “Are you asking?” Marco breathed.

Jean only barely managed to pull out a “yes.” before he pressed his lips against Marco’s, or Marco pressed his against his? He wasn’t particularly sure who instigated it, nor did he actually care. He was kissing Marco and Marco was kissing him. 

Jean looped his arm around the other boy’s shoulders, his free hand coming up to snake under the bottom of Marco’s shirt, palm flattening against his stomach as his lips moved over Marco’s. Jean heard Marco let out a little gasp, stuttering in the pace they had hastily set. With a quiet flick of his tongue, coaxing the other boys mouth open and eliciting a soft moan, Jean leaned every closer still, scrambling for every thing and anything distinctly _Marco_. 

Marco pressed back, both hands ghosting up and over Jean’s waist, only to trail back down his sides, sending shivers up and down his skin, bristling with the newfound interaction. Marco’s hands settled now, resting along Jean’s hips for a momentarily, his thumbs massaging little circles just below his hip bones before finding their way up to his hair leaving hot trails where they skirted across his exposed skin.

Jean let out a soft moan of his own into the other boy’s mouth.

He needed to get this goddamned shirt off. 

Moving to wrestle with the fabric now creating an infuriating barrier between him and the Marco. Jean shifted slightly, throwing off their balance as the pair went tumbling to the floor. Marco, letting out a little squeak as he struggled to avoid the pot of pasta that still sat between them. Landing them heavily, one on top of the other. Marco laughed almost self consciously as he caught himself, arms braced on either side of Jean’s head. Barely missing another pasta disaster, The brunette glanced down and awkwardly shoved the pot to the side with his leg. Red faced and breathless Marco’s eyes rose to meet Jean’s, a small, cautious smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His brown eyes were now set in a meek sort of questioning as he observed the other boy.

Jean let out a breathy laugh of his own, feeling his embarrassment catch up full force as the moment passed, hitting him like a wall to the face.

_Had that really just happened?_

“So…” Marco trailed off expectantly, glancing down, and again, back up, clearly unsure as to where his gaze should rest.

“Yeah…” Jean breathed. “So…”

“That was…” Marco paused.  “Fun.”  
“Yeah…” Jean breathed, eyes fixated on the boy still leaning over him, chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.  
One moment of prolonged eye contact seemed to speak for them both and in no time Jean found himself, rising to his feet and pulling off his shirt. Following Marco to the bedroom hastily, he wrestled with the button on his jeans. Suffice to say, Marco was doing the same, pulling his navy t-shirt over his head and glancing backwards at Jean who collided with him as they crossed the doorframe, their discarded clothing falling in a haphazard trail leading to the bedroom’s entrance. They could deal with that in the morning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took my love down to violet hill  
> There we sat in snow  
> All that time she was silent, still
> 
> Said if you love me  
> Won't you let me know?
> 
> If you love me,  
> Won't you let me know?
> 
> \---
> 
> YES I updated in two days because I feel so bad about leaving you guys hanging for two weeks.  
> Here you go, enjoy. It finally happened! I hope you're happy because there is so much more to come.  
> You're always welcome to talk to me on [Tumblr](http://jellyfishsempai.tumblr.com) if you're interested.  
> Thank you again!
> 
> 100 points if you can find the Wisteria reference


	12. Yellow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh no. It's cute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I came along  
> I wrote a song for you  
> And all the things you do  
> And it was all Yellow

Jean tried to push down a wave of giggles that threatened to overcome him as he leaned out over that stupid balcony attached to his bedroom window. The little expanse of plaster and concrete suspending him several feet above the ground as he grinned down at the figure below. 

“If you’re gonna jump, i suggest you do it now. There’s only so long I can stand here and wait you know.” His voice wafted through the muggy summer air, over the chirps and hums of nearby grasshoppers and various insects hidden in the bushes below. 

Jean’s grin just grew wider and he leaned further, balancing precariously over the ledge by the waist, watching his hoodie strings pull downward, past his face to the lush green lawn below. “You’re gonna miss and I’m gonna die. No fucking way!” 

“Shut up Jean, when have i ever dropped you?” Came the annoyed retort, sounding more amused, a glimmer of a smile playing off the words that bounced from the greenery below. 

“No saying this time won’t be the first.”  
“No saying it will.”  
He took a moment to consider this, pausing mid lean, his feet slowly lifting from the ground under him as he balanced on his stomach over the drop. “If you don’t catch me I’m gonna die.”  
“If you don’t shut up and do it, we’re gonna get caught.”

Jean smirked at that. “So? I’m not the one getting chased out if we do.”

The blonde on the ground simply scowled and rolled his eyes. “Get down here babe or I’m singing loud enough for the world to hear.”  
“Don’t you fucking dare Thomas!” Jean paled considerably as the blonde grinned, shooting one of those obnoxious smirks he had grown to adore, and turned around, trudging the few steps it took him to reach an old wooden guitar. Thomas had abandoned it moments before asking Jean to fucking jump. “Don’t…” He warned again, voice wavering as the blonde plucked up the instrument. “Thomas-“  
A soft chord floated through the gentle air, caressing the breeze with a melancholy lull. 

“Thomas stop!”

Another chord followed this one, quickly succeeding a series of strums sounding like a familiar love song he knew far too well.

Jean groaned into his palm, returning to standing on the worn balcony and covered his face with his hands. “Don’t… you idiot!”  
A smile drew it’s way across Thomas’s face as he took a breath, opening his mouth in tune with the chords floating from the guitar “Look at the stars,”

“Noooo shut up!! Stop!!”

“Look how they shine for youu-“

“I’m serious.” Jean whined through his hands, still pressed to his face.  
“And all the things you do…” Thomas smiled, his blue eyes overflowing with something warm and comforting, something that looked like love. “And they were all yellow… Jeannn if you don’t come down…” He glanced back down at his acoustic and shifted it on his leg- “I’m not stopping-” strumming another run of chords under his calloused fingers. “I came a long, I wrote a song for- _you_ -“ His bright eyes were glittering with mirth. Thomas was perfectly aware of how much he was annoying the other boy. “-and all the things you- do. And it was all- sing with me baby- _Yellow.”_

Jean just let out another anguished cry at this and sunk down lower on the railing. Part of him wanted to jump just to shut the guy up. although he may or may not have been secretly humming along, led by the voice of his boyfriend and that god damned guitar. “You’re gonna get caught if you keep making that noise.”  
A light chuckle. “I don’t mind. I got to sing to you.” Followed by another strum. 

Jean felt his face heating up at the boy’s blatant statement and buried his face in his arms once again. “Fiine FINE! Just shut the hell up would you?” His voice was muffled through the fabric of his sweater but he could tell Thomas heard him by the silence that followed. The only sound now was the soft buzz of a lawnmower somewhere far off in the muggy summer air. Who the hell mowed their lawn this late in the evening?  
“Do you want me to catch you?”

Jean sighed and lifted his head, gaze once again falling on Thomas down below, grinning up at him eagerly, like a dog. “I’ll climb down. There’s no way in hell I’m jumping off this thing.”

The blonde let out a long, forlorn sigh and threw his head to the sky dramatically. “Why won’t he trust me?” There was a brief smile in his voice, causing Jean to roll his eyes, a fond smile playing on his own lips as he threw a leg over the bannister. “I actually value my life, thank you. I’m not leaving it in the hands of some guitar playing maniac.”  
“You mean genius, don’t you?”

As Jean clambered steadily down the brick siding he could hear Thomas’s footsteps across the soft earth, drawing to the base of the house in wait. He had done this countless times, sneaking out after locking himself up in his bedroom on the premise of homework. Jean figured that if he closed his eyes, he would still have no problem scrambling down the familiar rough framework of his house, every calloused and worn bump in the brickwork familiar to his smooth fingertips. Currently, It seemed to be the only way he and Thomas could spend time together, apart from at school anyways, where they tended to operate more on the premise of “really good friends.” It was a decision both had come to. “Not until we tell our parents”, having been Jean’s hesitant explanation. Knowing full well how unlikely that situation was every to occur. 

If he had to be honest with himself, Jean knew, fairly well, how likely it was that the support he needed from his family wouldn’t be there when the time called for. His father, a rather traditional business man, made it rather obvious how he felt towards the whole idea of a two men sharing a romantic relationship. Through his subtle comments and generalised world views around the dinner table, Jean had a pretty good idea what exactly his father thought about most things. The general consensus- highly conservative. His mother, on the other hand, was far to concerned with her next photo shoot or manicure to lend much support on the issue. He figured that if his father resisted, his mother would follow close in tow, simply for the ease of it. 

She had married young. Being the second youngest daughter in a family of five meant her childhood was full of vying for attention through any means necessary, be it crying, screaming, or in her case, manipulation. Apparently that instilled in her a rather strong sense of vanity, her saving grace, being the beautiful face she had been brought into this world with. When Jean’s father showed up at one of her agencies events for an interview she latched onto him like a leech. At least, that’s the recollection Jean heard through those rare family gatherings at Christmas time. (maybe not the leech part… but you get the idea) It wasn’t as if she was a bad mother, she looked after all three of her children as every mother should. Unfortunately, her mandatory attention, only went so far, leaving Jean, and his siblings, rather frequently alone to fend for themselves. It was just that she was so _young._ She had been pregnant with Yvette at only sixteen, the other two, Mickael, and Jean, following in close succession thereafter. Needless to say, the motherly affection most children knew growing up just wasn’t present in his life. It didn’t bother him. He didn’t know what it was, apart from seeing other children at school doted upon by their own parents. If anything Jean had only ever viewed it with a removed sense of indifference. He wasn’t attached to his family. It just, didn’t matter. The only thing that did matter was the idea that somehow these people, who supposedly loved him, raised him, and kept a roof over his head, could so easily turn against him. It was that, and the fear of losing the only thing he knew, that kept him from saying anything at all.

That was what made Thomas so special.

That was what made scaling his way down that rough brick wall every night so easy.

Thomas.

Jean would be hard pressed to deny that he loved the feeling of running away, be it only for an hour or two. There was something so absolutely freeing about it. Something that made the world seem so incredibly enormous to his usually small and enclosed realm bordering somewhat on mundane. Everything seemed so endless, so full of potential and promise. Their times like this, Jean liked to imagine, were something of a subtle foreshadow of events to come. Warm summer evenings with Thomas and his stupid guitar, and all the Coldplay he could ask for. 

As Jean neared the bottom he felt two steady arms wrap quickly around his midsection and suddenly the wall was gone, his vision washing in warm yellow blurs as his world spun.  
“You’re mental! Put me down!” He squirmed against the blonde’s grip, feeling his arms tighten as he wriggled to get away.

After a few more twirls his feet finally met grass and Jean closed his eyes, trying to stop the spinning in his head. Thomas had his chin resting in the crook of Jean’s shoulder nuzzling into his neck with a gentle hum. “I missed you.” His voice was barely a whisper when he spoke, sending shivers across Jean’s skin. He smiled and leaned back into the other boy, finding comfort in the press of there bodies, so close together.

“We literally just saw each other a few hours ago.”  
Thomas sighed softly and planted a delicate kiss when his lips met skin. “not the same.”

Jean couldn’t help the smile the that spread across his face and turned his head to the side, their lips sliding together perfectly. “Not the same.” He mumbled, leaning his forehead against the other boy’s, his eyes sliding shut and he just listened. The content hum of warm weather, lawnmowers, insects, and evening’s melancholy birdsong filled the air. It was almost too perfect. Then again, around Thomas, things usually were. “so?”

“So?” The blonde was smiling against his skin, still nuzzling the spot at his neck affectionately, kissing and nipping at it as Jean slid further back into the other boy’s body.

They fit together so perfectly.

“Where are we going?”  
Thomas hummed lightly and placed another soft kiss along Jean’s jawline. “Surprise.”  
“mm? Not fair.”  
“How isn’t that fair? Shouldn’t you be excited?” the other boy hummed again, his hand massaging small circles over Jean’s stomach.  
“I don’t like surprises.” Jean sighed, finally putting some distance between himself and Thomas before things grew any more heated then they were clearly becoming. There was plenty of time for that later.

“You’re just impatient, my love.” The other boy chided, placing one last chaste kiss on Jean’s lips before picking up the abandoned acoustic and throwing it over his shoulder.

Jean watched as his boyfriend trudged over to a small collection of bushes that lined the pavement, creating a divide from his parent’s property and the outside world. Pushing his way through the sharp green to a small opening the two had dug out earlier in the year, when the branches were still soft and malleable. Thomas ducked and vanished behind branches of deep green. “You coming babe?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jean sighed, following close behind, with a grunt as he pushed through the sticks that pulled annoyingly at his hair and clothes, tugging at him as if to hold his body back. Coming out the other side fairly unscathed, the sandy haired teen took a moment to clear any passengers from his hair, having experienced the unpleasant scare of a spider hitching a ride in his hoodie only days before. Jean sighed and straightened up, eyeing the blonde who was now looking down the street thoughtfully. A beat of silence accompanied the two before Jean pressed a hesitant “So?”

Thomas laughed and pulled Jean in for another kiss, arms winding around his waist as their lips met, brief but nearly overflowing with affection. “You’re so impatient.”

Jean snorted and cuffed Thomas lightly up the side of his head. “Watch who you’re chastising there you jerk!” 

Twisting his face into a small pout Thomas pulled away from Jean and took his hand, fingers intertwining gently as he began to walk towards the next street over at a measured pace. “I parked over here so that I wouldn’t be in the way if your parents came. You want in the back or are you gonna sit in the cab with me this time?”

Smirking as the familiar blue ute drew into sight, Jean tugged gently on his boyfriend’s arm. “Depends on if we’re getting any use out of that extra space later on tonight or not.” The sandy haired youth waggled his eyebrows suggestively at his boyfriend, causing Thomas to flush a deep shade of crimson, his ears turning hilariously bright.

“W-way to be subtle there darling.” he nearly choked, hiding his embarrassment as he ducked his head, coughing behind hand as he stressed the final word, darling. He pulled Jean the extra few paces towards the blue truck parked only a few meters away. “It’d be nice if you sat in the cab with me. We’ll be out for a while so… I mean we can have a picnic in the back or something later.” Thomas glanced at Jean, shit eating grin still plastered all over his boyfriend’s face. “I have no idea why you like it back there so much. You’re like a dog, you know that?”  
Jean laughed, interrupting the blonde with an enthusiastic nudge. “I’m kidding. Of course I’ll sit with your ugly mug, wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Thomas just shot him a wary smile and crossed their final few paces towards the truck.

It was old. That much was evident upon first inspection, and the first time Thomas took him for a ride Jean found himself desperately clinging to the armrest for dear life. Blue paint was chipping along the bottom near old wheels and worn hubcaps, to reveal a bright red that spotted it’s way upwards, over the doors and back, creating a sort of tapered polkadot effect that would be cool, had it not been so obviously rusted. Jean had no idea why, but Thomas was in love with this trash heap, calling it ‘his baby’ at every given opportunity. He figured it was one of those ownership things, although Jean couldn’t understand why some people got into the whole marrying-your-car thing. As far as he was concerned, they were just another form of transportation from one place to the other, the faster they took you, the better. Although, Jean would begrudgingly admit that, after some time, he had grown his own sort of soft fondness towards the big blue monstrosity his boyfriend called a truck. 

Maybe it was because of those stupid evenings spent out under night’s clear blanket of stars with Thomas, comfortably lying back on the vehicle’s hood, thoughts and words spiralling into the milky way far above their heads. Or those stupid guitar songs he played from time to time in the truck bed under a wide open sky of pastel blues and white washed yellows. Or making out under hastily strewn blankets on the cab’s back seat, panting breaths, heated touches, skin against skin, whimpers turned from soft moans to groans of pleasure, turned to stammered confessions of love and- regardless of why, Jean had to admit, he had become hesitantly attached to the blue monstrosity. Much to even his own distain, okay, not nearly as attached as Thomas, but he regarded the truck with his own brand of fondness, understanding, in his own way, why the thing meant so much to his boyfriend as he regarded it with distant familiarity.

Sliding into the passenger side, Jean sighed, leaning his head back against the familiar leather of the vehicle’s interior. “You gonna tell me where we’re going yet?” His eyes were shut and he could hear Thomas’s guitar sliding gently into the cramped backseat, a hollow knocking sound accompanying it as it slid over some discarded sneakers. He wasn't sure who those belonged to.

“Nope, I told you. It’s a surprise- Can you please buckle up?” Thomas was fastening his own seat belt as he spoke, adjusting the seat and sitting back comfortably before sliding his key in the ignition.

Jean rolled his eyes dramatically as the car gave a little lurch, humming to life around them with the sound of the engine. He reached around to his side and tugged at the thick belt, bringing it around his body with a click of finality as it fastened into place inside it’s clip. Jean sat back once more and gazed out through the cracked windshield, the spiderwebs across his vision, comfortably familiar. Watching the world through his now distorted view gave Jean a sort of odd satisfaction. Lines didn’t completely meet as they spread across the glass unevenly. Nothing was complete, and it reminded Jean just how finite his own little world was, finite, but delicate. God he couldn’t wait to be free from here. Jean licked his lips and let out a small puff of air through his nose. “You know that I’ll figure it out eventually. I know pretty much every part of this town, same as you.”

Thomas just shot him a knowing smirk and returned his gaze to the road, pulling onto the pavement ahead and accelerating down heated asphalt, warm summer air licking at their skin as they drove, windows open to the calming summer breeze. “Who said anything about being in town?” The blonde was smirking now as he pulled, what Jean liked to call, his “tool shades” over his bright blue irises, shading the sun and making him look like, well, a tool. 

“We’re leaving town? What for?”

“That would be the same as telling you where we’re going.” The blonde tutted, hair ruffled by the wind as Jean surveyed his clear profile carefully. 

The scent of evening has hot in the wind as Thomas’s truck picked up speed, whipping at Jean’s freshly dyed hair and bowing it across his forehead annoyingly. He’d complain, but Thomas would only laugh. They’ve been through this before.

The blonde in question reached over from his side of the car and flicked on the stereo, their little cap filling with none other than… Coldplay. Jean just let his eyes slide closed, settling back into the worn leather seat, allowing those usual riffs and crescendos to wash over him, carrying with them that lingering familiarity that came with the band, if only in context. 

_“You and me_

_The land, sun, trees, the sky, the stars, the sea_

_365 degrees I am a puzzle, you're the missing piece.”_

the pavement stretched before them as Thomas accelerated down the highway, quaint houses and fences giving way to sparse fields of lush green and yellow. Canola plants stretched as far as the eye could see, washing the horizon in gold. It wasn’t exotic, it wasn’t the most romantic, but it was better then anything their small subdivision of Trost had to offer. 

_Yellow_ , everything was yellow.

The sky churned in a bright ocean of warm pink pastels, orange, red, and gold splashed across the sky, reflecting clouds you didn’t know you were seeing until the sun shone just right. It was one of those bleary mid year evenings he knew they both loved so much. 

“Are we going to see those fireflies again?”  
Thomas let out a short chuckle, adjusting the shades on his nose and shaking his head, fingers strumming on the steering wheel in time with the beat Chris Matin was wailing out in the stereo. 

_“What is this feeling that I can't explain?_

_And why am I never gonna sleep again?_

_What is this thing I've never seen before?_

_A little boy lost in a breaking storm.”_

“You’re not gonna get it.” Thomas flashed Jean one of those smiles that mad his heart flutter a few paces off beat and returned his attention back to the road. “Just sit back and enjoy the ride. The Sunset’s amazing right now!”

Jean, eyes glued to the blond at his side, just let out a small sigh, smiling fondly as his boyfriend, who began to dramatically lip sing along to the music wafting out of their static-y speakers. God, he was something. The blonde boy who was smiling, singing, laughing at his own idiocy, putting his entire heart into everything he could do to make himself, and Jean happy. God he loved him. He loved him so much. He felt that dopey grin spreading across his face again, the one that seemed to take shape only around Thomas, and quickly turned his attention out the side window, hoping to god Thomas wouldn’t notice the fifty shades of red happening on his face right now.

_“Hide and sob and away they fly_

_So write your name in the summer sky_

_Life has really only just begun_

_Life that comes and everything under the sun.”_

As time lulled itself into a calming hush, being swept away with the wind, thick in Jean’s hair. He watched as the colours in the sky slowly faded, being overcome by deeper shades of violet and blue, turning his vision from gold to navy. 

Twilight hung, think in the air, as Thomas slowed the car down on the side of a rough dirt road, the wheels of his truck kicking up clouds that settled around them like fog. 

Jean cast a glance around his surroundings, nothing but sparsely bunched trees and a dirt gravel road. “Is this the part where you tell me that you’re actually a murderer?” 

Thomas let out an adorable laugh and shook his head, opening the door to his side of the truck and sliding out. “No, we have to walk a bit. Come on.”  
Hastily pushing the door on his own side open, Jean hopped from the truck as well, worn converse hitting the dry earth and disrupting some of the already settled dust around his feet. “It’s fucking creepy out here dude. What the hell?”

The road was completely empty, small dirt paths lead to what Jean would assume were acreages, carefully spaced between one another to allow for ample farm land in between thick, but small, alcoves of forested green. The absence of light seemed eerie in the grey twilight, as Jean noted that they were so far out, not a single street light burned in the quickly descending dark. The chirps and hums of grasshoppers and crickets filled his periphery with sounds of colour that somehow made up for the bleakness of the evening, even after the sun had long before set. 

“Fucking creepy” Jean repeated to himself, his words hardly a breath amongst the cacophony of insects in the clearing below. A wide ditch separated him from the thick sounds of the animals prowling nearby, and for that, Jean was incredibly thankful. Pulling his hands into the sleeves of his jacket and following after Thomas, who had begun to walk a few paces ahead of him, Jean let out a little “oi”. Pulling up beside the blonde quickly. “You trying to leave me behind Wagner?”  
Thomas just snickered and reached down, taking Jean’s hand in his and lacing their fingers together. “So… How do you feel about ghosts?”

Jean balked at the question, eyebrows raised in faint scepticism. “Ghosts? Why the hell are you asking me that now?”

The blonde only grinned, eyes straight ahead as he dragged him down one of the little dirt paths to their left. 

“Seriously dude, what the fuck is going on?”

“You’re gonna have to tell me first.” Thomas’s voice was full of mirth now. Jean could practically hear the wide smile playing on his boyfriend’s lips as he spoke, the corners of his mouth turned up in smug approval of his own questioning.

Jean sighed in frustration and ran a hand through his coarse hair, the stuff felt like fucking hay. “Not really a fan dude. You should know that. You were there for Halloween…”

His boyfriend just gave a thoughtful hum in return. Apparently unswayed by Jean’s admission. 

He felt his face pale. “Wait… Why??”

“hm?”  
“Why are you asking me about ghosts?”

“No reason.” Thomas gave Jean’s hand a tight squeeze, clearly still grinning like an idiot under night’s dark shadow.

Jean’s expression faltered at the sing song tone Thomas seemed to have taken on. “I’m serious man, if you’re going to pull any of this Halloween bullshit on me, my ass is out of here right now!” not funny. As they neared the end of the gravel pathway, the steady crunch of their footsteps slowing to a standstill, Jean took in what lie before them. 

It was huge… and that was an understatement. 

Thick ivy wound it’s way up solid stone pillars at the front entrance. The house that sat before them looked like something the family Vontrapp used to own… thirty some odd years ago. Whatever had once been there was no more. Leaving this gargantuan monster of a house to the elements of time and weather seemed to have taken it’s toll on the clearly once pristine exterior. Clean white was now a dingy brown, or what Jean guessed would be brown, had there been a presence of something other then the rapidly failing twilight that still hung around them like smoke in a seedy bar. The steps leading up to it were chipped in some places, overgrown with ferns and weeds, poking through the cracks diligently. He would have been amazed, had it not been fucking night time. 

“What the hell Thomas.” Jean gave the boy at his side a rough shove and groused as he was jostled in return. “This is your idea of a date?”

The blonde laughed jovially and gave Jean’s hand a squeeze, “Don’t worry baby, I’ll protect you.” Thomas was grinning again, that shit eating grin that, under normal circumstances would have Jean’s legs turning to jelly, only now it was just infuriating. 

“So you bring me to this shit hole? Dude, if I wanted to go exploring in an abandoned mess like this I would have stayed home and played Minecraft! or fucking Amnesia for god’s sake!” He could feel his face heating up, and Jean wasn’t sure if it was out of nerves or anger.

“Calm down Jean.” Thomas laughed, leaning forward and planting a soft kiss to his forehead. “I was kidding about the ghost thing. I was just trying to get you riled up.” He stepped back and took his boyfriend in with a muted smirk playing on his partially shadowed features. “Sorry. Looks like it worked too well.” 

“Fucking hell.” Jean cursed, throwing his hands in the air and huffing indignantly. He was mere moments away from throwing a tantrum on the fucking disgusting earth and demanding they go back. And not like, one of those grown up tantrums. No, Jean was prepared to kick and scream, if necessary.

Thomas stepped forward, wrapping Jean in a tight embrace and nuzzling his head into the side of Jean’s neck. “I’m sorry my love. I didn’t mean to make you this upset.”

Jean could still hear the faint remnants of a smile in the other boy’s words as he held him tighter, nudging Jean’s jaw with his nose, Thomas’s breath across his skin, tantalisingly persuading. “I’m not forgiving you that easily Thomas.” He huffed, feeling the lie roll around in his mouth even as he spoke it. 

God dammit.

Thomas continued to lovingly nudge into the crook of Jean’s shoulder as he spoke, his short blonde hair soft against Jean’s ear. “We can leave it you want to.” The blonde’s voice was muffled in the fabric of his hoodie, and Jean could hear a small pout in Thomas’s tone as he carefully pleaded. “I just thought it would be something fun.”

Taking in the dark silhouette of the building before them, Jean let out a short huff and gave the other boy a little peck, kissing the shell of his ear briefly before pulling away. “Nice try, but I’m not going in there without a flashlight of some kind.”

At this, Thomas’s grin nearly split his face. The blonde raised his left hand enthusiastically, dangling the small plastic torch in front of Jean’s eyes. “Already thought of that honey.”

He heaved another heavy sigh and rolled his eyes. “You’re on really thin ice here dude. You sure you wanna go through with this?”  
Thomas shoved his hands in his pockets and gazed at the ground again, smiling sheepishly as he kicked at the cracked earth. “You’re always the one dragging us on suicide missions. I figured it was my turn for once.” His coy smile turned into something of a daring grin as Thomas’s eyes rose to catch Jean’s. “Don’t tell me you’re chickening out just because it wasn’t your idea this time?”

Oh that was it.  
“You’re fucking on.” Jean challenged, swiping the flashlight from around Thomas’s wrist and trudging off towards the entrance, the blonde close in tow.

Thomas wasn’t lying when he said that most of their shit head decisions were a result of Jean’s influence. More often then not, the instances when they found themselves regretting, well, anything and everything they’d done, were usually because Jean himself was the one to suggest the idea, usually highly enthusiastic at the time. Thomas was just too nice to say anything other then a hesitant “Sure baby”. Camping without a tent, bareback horse riding, surf lessons in April… flipping hot dogs without tongs. Yeah… Most shit head decisions were lead with Jean at the helm. He had to give Thomas some credit for thinking of this one before him. 

And yeah, maybe he was acting a little spoiled. Had it been his idea, he would have been totally stoked on the thought of hitting up an abandoned mansion in the middle of butt fuck nowhere. It’s just that it was a little…

The heavyset door creaked as Jean nudged it open, a cloud of dust washing it’s way up his torso with the wind his movement created. Covering his mouth with a sleeve, Jean coughed warily. “I doubt anybody’s been stupid enough to do this yet.” 

“Guess we’re pioneers then.” Thomas chirped, far too enthusiastic for Jean’s taste.

“Shut the fuck up.” Jean grunted as he gave the door one final push, the barrier giving way to what appeared to be a rather decrepit house.

“Kinda reminds me of the haunted mansion…” Thomas speculated as he stepped in after Jean, eyes panning the ceiling above, as if he were looking for something.

The room was gigantic, a large stone staircase showcased in the centre leading to rooms that branched off on either side of the second story. The floor above was open, winding around the edges with a balcony running adjacent to it’s dust coated walls. It felt as if there were eyes watching from the open doors above. The darkness behind them almost swallowing any and all light that was cast towards their gaping interiors.

“So. Uh… ghosts, hey?” Jean’s voice reverberated around the room, bouncing off of the smooth walls and returning at a lower frequency than had left his mouth.

_Fucking creepy…_

Thomas chuckled and placed a reassuring hand on Jean’s shoulder. “I don’t think so. But I’m here if anything happens.”  
Jean just rolled his eyes. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

Thomas scoffed, his face pulling into an expression of mock insult as he regarded Jean with raised eyebrows. “I’m sorry, have i done something to disprove my reliability to you?”

“You some kind of part time ghost hunter darling? Or am I supposed to assume that you learned all your tricks from those awful shows on TV?” Jean was grinning despite himself. The likelihood of Thomas doing any sort of protecting seemed, in and of itself, somewhat of a joke. The guy was a pansy when it came to confrontation, usually leaving Jean high and dry to deal with any unwarranted physical conflicts on his own.

Thomas’s expression broke into a teasing smile and he booped Jean’s nose. “If you’re afraid I’ll do everything I can to make sure you feel safe.”

“Says the guy who forced me in here in the first place.” He turned the beam towards the staircase, slowly running it along the walls of the room in a clockwise spiral. “Let’s find out what’s behind door number one?”

“Let’s” Thomas stepped around his boyfriend and made his way towards the stairwell, clearly already enjoying their tiny expedition. He glanced back when he realised Jean wasn’t following. “Something the matter babe?”

It wasn’t because he was scared… He was just a little, apprehensive. At least that’s what Jean was telling himself. His feet were firmly rooted to the spot and for some reason, refused to budge.

“Hon? Jean? Hey…” Thomas’s voice drew him out of his stupor, Jean’s eyes finding the other boy’s in their dim torchlight, taking in the smile that still played on his lips. Somehow he still managed to look attractive in the godforsaken creepy as fuck dump somebody decided to call a house, his blue eyes glowing against the dull greys that surrounded him. 

“You coming or not?” He tilted his head to the side in questioning, the shadows on his face complimenting his features perfectly. 

God, Jean just needed to take a mental snapshot of the guy in that exact moment. Dull rays of light shining off of his light blonde hair, so stark against the shaded greys and muted blues blanketing the room around them. Now he was frozen for a different reason.

“Is everything alright Jean?”

Jean blinked rapidly a few times, clearing his vision of the stars he was apparently seeing and shook his head. Dispelling any lingering awe and trudging over to the base of the stairs. “Let’s go.”

Thomas smiled and snaked his hand beside Jean’s, quickly snatching the flashlight from his fingers with a soft “hah!”

“Wh-what the hell dude??” Jean exclaimed, nearly falling as the beam he had been so intently focused on strayed from his line of vision.

“Taking initiative!” Thomas concluded with a grin. “You move too slow!

“Too-… You jerk.” Jean glowered at the other boy cooly. Thomas was clearly far too proud of himself for Jean’s own taste.

“Just moving us along. Let’s go!” Giving Jean a little shove, Thomas paraded the pair up to the entrance of the first door, wide open and welcoming. 

Jean felt his breath catch in his throat as he stared into the inky black that shrouded the entire room and licked his lips, his whole mouth going dry as he tried to muster up enough courage to step inside. 

He wasn’t fucking scared. He was just… cautious…

As they moved forward, Thomas leading with the tiny flashlight, the floorboards beneath Jean’s feet gave an ear splitting creak… At least, it was ear splitting given the silence of the room before. “Fucking hell.” Jean grumbled as he pressed forward, after his boyfriend, feeling his fear start to ebb into unyielding anger. Thomas knew how much he hated things like this! Screw adventure! This shit was fucking scary.

“If I had known this was what you wanted to do tonight I would have actually stayed home and done my homework for once.” The teen muttered belligerently under his breath, running a hand through his hair nervously. 

“Nah. You would have come.” Thomas was stepping into an adjacent room now and Jean almost shrieked as the flashlight slid out of his sight. “God dammit, would it kill you to wait?”

“it’s just a house. Nothing’s in here… See?” As if to prove a point, Thomas brandished the beam around, it’s little orb quickly bouncing off every wall in the room. 

“Yeah, that’s not making this better.” Jean huffed pushing past the other boy and stubbornly taking the lead. The sooner they could be out of here, the better. Stepping into yet another empty room, Jean’s eyes surveyed his surroundings with cautious expectance. It looked like a bedroom…

“Do you think a little girl lived here?” Thomas’s voice wafted from the doorframe as he stood there, leaning in, torch in hand. 

“I don’t know… I mean, I guess so…” Jean muttered, feeling his skin crawl as his eyes landed on a broken mirror leaning against the far wall, jagged glass shards scattered around it’s edges threateningly. “B-but who the hell knows, right? Whatever, let’s keep going.” He promptly turned on his heel, running almost face first into Thomas, who had slid up behind him at some point. 

“Wonder what broke it.” He murmured, lips close to Jean’s ear. Jean had to fight down a squeak as he slowly glared into the other boy’s eyes. They were intense, focusing solely on the mirror, now at Jean’s back. He rolled his eyes and stared down at the wooden floorboard beneath their feet. They looked rotten.

Suddenly Jean froze, feeling cool fingers snake their way across the back of his neck. 

“Thomas…”  
“mmmmhm?”

Jean raised his eyes to meet the other boy’s again, narrowing them suspiciously as he caught a playful glint in the blonde’s eye.

“OH FUCKING HELL!” He gave Thomas a rough shove in the chest, eliciting a series of giggles from his supposed “boyfriend”

“Haha!! You were so scared!! oh! Jean!!! haahahha.” Thomas was doubled over now, nearly choking on the laughter the spilled from his lips. “You- you were. I mean, you were so- so. HAhahahahahahahahah!!!”

Jean glowered cooly at the other boy as he attempted to reign himself in. “Well I’m glad you found it so fucking hilarious Thomas.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Jean narrowed his eyes, glaring pointedly at the blonde, keeled over, now gasping dramatically for air. 

“N-no! I’m sorry! I didn’t think you’d actually jump. oh my god!” 

“Not funny Thomas.” Jean’s voice was edging on scolding now as he felt his composure slowly trickling into blinding rage.

Thomas wiped at his eyes and straightened up again, stepping forward so he was eye to eye with his boyfriend. “I didn’t actually think that it would scare you! I’m sorry. Your reaction was just too hilarious.”  
Jean felt an eyebrow twitch. You wanna see hilarious Thomas?”

Thomas waved his hands in defeat, bringing them up like a shield before his face “No! No!! I’m sorry! Okay? Scaring you was not my intention… you were just so freaking adorable and i-”

“Adorable?? What the hell? Who thinks shit like that is adorable?”

“You were! Your-” He let out a long sigh, finally composing himself as he gazed seriously back at Jean now. Features schooled into an apologetic frown. “I’m sorry. Okay? Promise I won’t do it again.”

Letting out a belligerent sigh, Jean glared back, regarding the blonde cautiously as the two stood there in silence. “Don’t you even think about it.” He warned, finally feeling his heartbeat start to steady. “I’m walking out if you try something like that again man. Not funny.”

“Okay, okay. baby, I won’t.” waving his hands apologetically, Thomas stepped forward again, placing a soft kiss on Jean’s lips. “I won’t.” He repeated.

“You’re a freaking jerk sometimes, you know that?” Jean muttered as he kissed Thomas back, hesitantly returning the gesture as he let his eyes flutter shut.  
“Probably.” Thomas hummed, smiling as he pulled away. “I guess I’m pretty lucky I still have someone as amazing as you.”  
Flushing under the steady gaze of the other, Jean scowled. “Don’t say shit like that in creepy ass locations. It’s weird.”

Thomas laughed and nuzzled his forehead against Jean’s. “Yes my love.” He rested his chin on Jean’s shoulder and sighed, gazing back towards the wall as Jean stared steadily at the doorway, his means of escape.  
A few beats of silence followed, Jean, noting the calm, steady, rhythm of Thomas’s breathing against his chest. It was almost soothing, and he felt the tension slowly slipping out of him as they stood there.

“Who leaves a mirror here anyway?” It was Thomas who broke the silence first, standing to his full height again and frowning as he took in the broken display.

The tension was back “Fuck if I know. Let’s just go.” Jean pressed, nudging his boyfriend lightly. No part of him wanted to pay any attention to the mirror behind him.

“It’s broken… I wonder who did it…”

“Why the hell does it matter who fucking broke it? Can we go? it’s just a mirror.” The weird chill at the base of his skull was returning every moment they spent still standing in that room. “There is literally no reason to be standing here right now.” He gave Thomas another shove.

Thomas inhaled slowly, eyes still focused, unblinking, on that god damned mirror, ignoring Jean’s hasty pleas. “I don’t know, it’s just cool… You know? Like, stuff happened here that we have no idea about… A whole different life. With different people and different stories…”  
Thomas’s words sent shivers up Jean’s spine. Now was not the time to be getting introspective. “Who fucking cares?!” 

Thomas smiled, eyes flicking down to meet Jean’s for a moment before gazing back at the bedroom. “It’s just cool to think about, i guess.”

“You’re Fucking weird.” Jean gave his boyfriend one final push, turning him around and nearly shoving him out the door. “Remind me to never let you plan our dates again.”

This drew another chuckle out of his boyfriend as Jean glared at his back, reluctantly following him down the row of unopened doors. “I’m serious. If this is your idea of fun you are seriously-“ Jean’s words suddenly died on his lips, a small squeak being the only thing he could muster as his hands grew cold. 

A shadow, almost six feet in length drifted across his vision somewhere just over Thomas’s shoulder in a room nearby. And it wasn’t just a trick of the light. No, that shadow had been solid, and it was fucking moving. 

“I’m seriously?? Oh come on Jean don’t leave me hanging.” Thomas was laughing glancing over his shoulder at the other boy, now standing stiff as a board against the nearest wall. “Jean?”

“You… you didn’t just…” Jean closed his mouth and swallowed, eyes glued to the doorframe a few paces in front of them. “You didn’t see that?” He managed to rasp, voice hoarse and faint as Thomas drew nearer to his now ghostly pale boyfriend.

“See what?” The blonde turned again, following Jean’s gaze towards the door and frowning. “Jean? What are you looking at?”

Jean just shook his head slowly, mouth hanging open in muted horror. It had been there, he had seen it. A slow shadow, just barely ghosting across the doorframe, slow, it was moving so slow, so… steady. “There.” He closed his mouth again. His voice was too high. “There was something… It… it…” He gulped and licked his lips. Running a hand through his now throughly messed hair with shaky fingers. 

Thomas gave him a worried frown, brow furrowing in concern. “it what? Something? Baby you’re going to have to be a little clearer then that…”

Jean heaved a shaky breath, feeling the shaking in his fingers begin to spread across his limbs. It could have been an animal… right?! He was imaging things… right? There wasn’t really a human shaped shadow in the crooked doorway of an old abandoned mansion’s empty bedroom… “C-can we leave?” His voice was thin and drawn out now. Barely louder than a whisper, eyes still dead set on the doorway at the end of the hall. Had that round shadow in the corner been there the whole time? He didn’t remember seeing it a few seconds ago… Did it just move? It looked like a doll’s head…

“Leave? We just got here.” Thomas laughed again. Always with the laughing! “Come on!! I promise, this house isn’t haunted.” He made a grab for his boyfriend’s hand but Jean pulled it away quickly, Thomas’s fingers just barely brushing his own. 

There was a silent rage beginning to boil beneath his skin and Jean was done being polite about it. “No fucking way man. I’m out. If you want to stay, you can. But I’m done. No way. I’m out! I’m out!” He wasn’t sure where came from, but he was done feeling like a scared six year old that was clinging desperately to his mommy for dear life. If Thomas wanted to explore, he could do it alone. Who did this sort of shit for fun anyways?!? 

Thomas frowned, eyes narrowing as he took in the suddenly infuriated boy before him. “Hey, come on. it’s not that bad! I was only joking before Jean. Loosen up a little.”

“No. See you later man. This is not for me. I don’t care if you had something else planned later in this godforsaken shit hole or what, but you can count me out. I’m gone. Goodbye.” Turning on his heels, Jean stormed down the steps, moving as quickly as possible as the knot in his stomach began to tighten, his back, now fully to the empty bedroom door.

It could have been a trick of the light. it could have been fucking anything. But enough was enough, and Jean had his fair share of “fun” for the night. 

Pushing his way out the heavy doors, Jean heard Thomas call his name before they slid shut again with a finalising slam. 

_Good riddance._

It wasn’t that he was actually that angry with Thomas about the whole ordeal. He knew that after a few hours things wouldn't seem as impossibly infuriating. But the combination of that fucking creepy ass shadow and Thomas’s insistence to continue moving just broke him.

Storming down the pathway, Jean kicked frustratedly at a cluster of rocks collected in the centre, suddenly veering off the path and into a tangle of forest on his left. “Do not fuck with me right now.” Jean warned under his breath, to nobody in particular as the forest closed in around him. 

_Fuck Thomas._

_Fuck that guy._

Heavy rustling followed in his wake as Jean pressed further into the thicket, sparse trees standing bright against the now fully risen moon above his head, casting long shadows across his field of vision. The forest floor was covered in leaves, making his journey noisy, not that he could be bothered by it at this point. If an animal wanted to follow him it could sure as hell fucking do that.

“Jean!” Thomas’s voice rung out in the night, distant, but still clear enough for Jean to hear. 

Like hell was he calling back.  
“Jean!?”

He kept walking. Heavy leaves, thick trees, twigs, nature… it was all in his way at this point, but he couldn’t be bothered to turn back. The main road meant Thomas, and that was not fucking happening. 

“JEAN.” 

Fuck, was he getting… closer??

“Jean!!!”

More rustling, more walking. Jean wasn't sure if the cracking and footfalls were his anymore, or just a cacophony of nature and “Jean.” They made a shitty combination.

“JEAAANNNN!!!”

“Stop fucking looking for me Thomas.” Jean muttered harshly under his breath. His feet were beginning to ache from stepping on so many loose branches that dug harshly into the soles of his shoes as he carried forward. “Just shut the fuck up and leave me alone.”

More rustling, more crunching. Branches snapping, twigs breaking. 

Suddenly he heard the pattern of heavy foot steps behind him, followed by a rough tap on the back. Spinning around quickly Jean opened his mouth, ready to scream at whoever it was behind him. 

Thomas was there, of course. Wearing this goofy grin that stretched all the way from one side of his face to the other. He was breathing heavily and looking at Jean with this playful glimmer in his deep blue eyes.

“What the hell-“

“You’re it!” Suddenly the blonde was running off again, disappearing into the shadows of the forest long before Jean could comprehend what exactly Thomas was doing.

“You-you’re it?? What the- you fucking moron!!” Jean yelled, his voice raising as loud as it would go, hoping to god that it reached Thomas.

“You’re never going to catch me with that attitude!!” Came his boyfriend’s delighted reply.

Cursing under his breath, Jean headed off in the direction Thomas had run in. Trying his best to stay angry about it, failing miserably as a smile worked it’s way onto his face. “I hate your guts!” Jean bellowed, voice carrying further this time as he heard Thomas laugh somewhere off to his right. Turning sharply, Jean darted in the direction of his boyfriend’s cackle, dodging trees as he wound his way through the forest in a vague direction he hoped would lead him to where Thomas was hiding. Suddenly Jean was hitting the ground, letting out a muffled oof as he slid over the blanket of leaves, rushing up to meet his face.

“Got ya.” Came a breathless voice above him, Jean, finally looking up to see a familiar smiling blonde now straddling his waist.

“You idiot… that’s… not how… tag is played. Didn’t you have… a childhood?” Jean groused, breathing heavily as he struggled through his sentence. 

Thomas just laughed and leaned down, nose bumping Jean’s lightly as their proximity shifted. “I’m sorry I scared you and forced you to go inside the Haunted Mansion.” He whispered, blue eyes trained on Jean’s amber with alarming sincerity. Not that is it much of a surprise to Jean anymore. Thomas always had a way with wearing his heart on his sleeve when it came to apologies. Not that he ever had to do it often.

“You were mean and your idea wasn’t fun.” Jean simpered, feeling like a child as he pouted stubbornly up at the other boy, holding him firmly in place with his legs. “and I kind of hate you right now.” Thomas let out a long sigh through his nose, warm air washing over Jean’s face as he screwed his eyes shut. “Mind doing that somewhere a little further from my face next time? your dragon impression isn’t very convincing.”

Laughing, the blonde placed a light peck on Jean’s nose, bringing a hand up to tenderly trace his cheekbone. “I wanted to be tough and cool like you.” He feigned a confused expression. “Wasn’t it working?”

“Yeah well, Mr. Tough-Cool-Guy, your idea of being all macho and manly like me is kind of stupid.” Jean smirked, feeling Thomas shift above him as he leaned down, arms crossed over Jean’s chest now as he rested his head atop them, tilting it to the side.

“hm? What did I do wrong?” 

“You sucked. Just in general, really. You’re kind of a shitty person all around, actually.” Jean felt a smile begin to tug at his own lips, and he fought to keep it down as Thomas pulled his face into an exaggerated scowl. 

“Well…” Thomas sighed, his hand slowly tracing circles over Jean’s chest as it worked it’s way up, running lightly over his collarbones and following the line of his jaw. “Guess I’m just not cut out to be the cool guy then…” He wistfully observed leaning forward once again and brushing their lips together, voice growing soft as he drew nearer, his hand now trailing back down to rest on Jean’s chest.

“You aren’t really cut out to be cool in any sense of the word” Jean breathed, brushing his nose lightly against Thomas’s. “I wouldn’t go pressing my luck to become _the_ ‘cool guy’ if I were you.” He whispered, closing the space between them as their hot breath mingled with one another’s. Lips barely glancing as he pulled away once more.

“Will you forgive me then?” Thomas kissed him again, still quick, still fleeting.”

“Hmm. i’ll think about it.” Jean hummed, feeling a smile finally break his lips as he pressed them to the side to Thomas’s. “I may have some conditions…”

“I dont mind. I love you.”

“Yeah, I know. I love you too.”

 

There wasn’t really any way to describe it, being in love with Thomas. It was a roller coaster, it was a dream. Sometimes Jean felt as if he were walking on clouds, unable to pin himself down for a moment to at least appreciate the ridiculous teenager at his side. Everything was smiles and sunshine around him. Acoustic guitar, and rambly songs about eyes and fluttering hearts, and all of that other crap you sing about when you think you’re in love. He couldn’t put words to the feeling he got every time he set eyes on that boy with the yellow hair and entrancing blue eyes. Jean felt as if all the canola coloured evenings and sunsets buzzing with grasshoppers and fireflies meant nothing and everything each time he stopped to take a breath. He was drowning in something so dizzyingly real that it felt like a dream. Hell, Thomas was a dream. A boy with calloused fingertips and an old blue truck. Discarded tennis sneakers in the backseat and a road map that lead anywhere. When he closed his eyes and tried to imagine a future, it would always be with Thomas, whether it be out somewhere selling groceries on the warm pavement of an exotic town, or cooped up in a loft apartment only big enough for one, eating mac and cheese out of a stupid aluminium pot with mismatched utensils.

Thomas was always there. 

Thank god. 

Thomas was always there…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your skin,  
> Oh yeah your skin and bones,  
> Turn into  
> Something beautiful,  
> You know,  
> You know I love you so,  
> You know I love you so.
> 
> \----
> 
> Uh, so a few things...  
> One, SOMEONE ACTUALLY DREW ME [FANART?!?!](http://hdotk.tumblr.com/post/80938636131/marco-laughed-leaning-forward-a-little-further)  
> Two, Im sorry about the wait it's hard to crank out a chapter when you don't ship it...
> 
>  
> 
> [Come talk to me any time about anything!!](http://jellyfishsempai.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading you guys! It really means a lot that there are people out there enjoying this!!!


	13. Careful Where You Stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We pick up where Jean and Marco left off.. Maybe winter really isn't all that bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel safe  
> I feel warm  
> When you're here, can I do no wrong?  
> I am cured, when I'm by your side  
> I'm alright, yes I'm alright

Marco groaned into his comforter.

It was way too early to be awake.

What time was it anyway?

Rolling over onto his side, the sheets pulling tightly against his body as he reached, he checked his digital bedside clock through bleary eyes. 7:03 am flashed at him through the gloom.

Better question, why was he awake?

The brunette let out a long sigh. Eyes slipped up to the darkened ceiling, the room’s air incredibly still, morning’s early hour still clinging to the particles that shone across his vision. Days off were reserved for sleeping in, and, considering the amount of sleeping he- uh- missed out on the night before, Marco had no problem curling back up and drifting off again for a few hours. Slipping back to his nest of blankets, Marco huddled under their warmth. The cool air stung his exposed skin, reminding him of the snow and wind outside.

There was a reason he turned down the heater at night… what was it again?

That early hour chill was making him regret his previous money saving decisions.

A shape to Marco’s left shifted in the darkness. As it nestled further into the blankets that had been piled atop it, a hand shot out and landed on Marco’s cheek, smushing around his face rather violently. Long fingers slid across his jawbone and uncomfortably squashed his nose against his cheek. Marco let out a muffled grunt, as one of the fingers almost made its way up his nostril.

Grimacing, the teen propped himself up, leaning forward on his elbow as he grasped around in the dark. Reaching out to rip the blankets off of his bedmate, Marco attempted to pull his head away from the other boy. “Jea-nmrgh-“ Whatever sentence the brunette had been trying to get out was abruptly stifled as the heel of Jean’s hand collided with his front teeth and upper lip. Marco’s head snapped back painfully and he let out a little yelp that pierced the quiet room. Jolting to the side of his target, he fell into the blankets with a muffled thump.

“Oh shit.” The pile at his side muttered. The voice emanating from it was rather groggy and distant as the speaker moved. His face edged closer to the surface of blankety confinement, peeking through minutely, one amber eye landed on Marco’s sprawled form. “Shit, sorry. Marco, I didn’t mean-“

As he peeked out, Jean stifled a yawn, blinking heavily while his eyes adjusted to the dim light of Marco’s bedroom. Straightening up fully, Jean ran a hand through his messy hair.

Marco was now sprawled face first across the duvet, staring into sleep barely open eyes. Trying so hard to hide any hint of amusement that might give away his attempted frustrated disposition, he glared pointedly at Jean from under his fringe.

“Remind me to never wake you up again.” Marco muttered through the blankets, his own voice now muffled by the material that his face was buried in.

Refusing to break eye contact with the perpetrator of his now throbbing jaw, Marco stuck his bottom lip out in a little pout.

“Who greets people like that first thing in the morning anyway?”

Jean was sitting now, the duvet piled around his waist as he slowly pushed himself into the waking world. The sleepy teen brought a hand up and rubbed at his face, stifling a sigh as he blinked rapidly a few times, fighting the urge to just forget it all and go back to bed. His hair was ridiculous. Coarse, sandy locks stuck up sideways in one direction, the other half completely flattened against the left side of his head, plastered there as if he had glued it in place.

It looked utterly… stupid.

Marco had a hard time keeping in the giggles that threatened to break his facade of utter distaste as he watched the boy in front of him slowly pull away from the dreaming world. Jean flinched against the cool air he had been so unceremoniously exposed to and drew his arms around himself, rubbing at the goosebumps that began to spread across his bare arms. Marco wasn’t even sure why he wanted to act angry given the moment. Jean was just sitting there like that, sleepy, shirtless, confused, and a little apologetic, that usual dead set expression of indifference not having fallen onto his features completely yet. He just looked really… cute. Marco bit his bottom lip with resolve and burrowed deeper into the covers.

Don’t give in, Marco!

Jean rolled his eyes with a loud sigh and leaned over the small divide of blankets between them, crossing his arms on the little pile and letting his head fall so he was eye to eye with the other boy. “I’m sorry? My good morning wasn’t good enough for you?” Jean was grinning smugly now, and oh god, when his voice was still groggy from being half asleep like that, and the way Jean was just sort of staring at him, head cocked to the side, his amber eyes half lidded, just, watching him….

Marco let out a slow breath through his nose, hoping the other boy would take it as some sort of unamused huff instead of a half hearted reminder that he was supposed to be acting angry right now and not jump his bones.

“If that’s the way you say good morning, I would much prefer it if you slept on the couch instead… that hurt…” Marco muttered, trying to hide his blush by burying his face into the blankets even further.

The grin on Jean’s face only grew wider and Marco felt his stomach curl, warm with something familiar that pricked knowingly at the base of his skull.  

Jean seemed to take a moment in his response, the smug expression never leaving his face as he watched Marco haughtily. The brunette in question was incredibly thankful for the dull grey lighting that currently filtered through his bedroom, hiding the worst of his blush that was steadily growing with heated conviction the longer Jean looked at him.

Jean finally let out a low sigh and sat up straight. “Fine then.”

He glanced over at Marco again and the brunette noted the way Jean’s gaze did all but meet his own. His amber irises lingering on the lines of his arms that lead down towards the small of his back. If it was even possible, Marco felt his blush grow deeper.

“It’s still morning, so I think I’m gonna go sleep some more.” Jean had all but turned away from the other boy at this point, hooking his arms behind his head and stretching with a yawn.

Marco watched the way Jean’s back arched, his bare chest curving upwards as his arms pulled back. The smooth line of Jean’s ribs, his silhouette against the darkness tapering out along his waist, his stomach, dropping off somewhere beneath the sheets that still pooled around his narrow hips.

He was doing that on purpose.

Marco bit his bottom lip again, his fingers gripping at the sheets that bunched in front of his face.

Not fair Jean.

The boy in question, let out a long sigh, gazing up at the ceiling and rolling his head forward slowly to fall, crooked to one side. His eyelids fluttered open again and landed on Marco pointedly with a knowing smirk.

“Something the matter Marco? You look sort of…” Jean clicked his tongue and paused a moment, as if mulling over a thought before continuing, “-flustered.”

Marco furrowed his eyebrows, although he was sure Jean couldn’t see much of his face anymore, given he had buried it nose deep in pillows. Only his eyes and the top of his head creasing into a frown would be visible to the younger teen at the moment. As much as Marco wanted to keep up his disastrously failing front of being pretty decently calm and collected, he wanted Jean back under the covers, in bed with him a little bit longer. Marco let out a slow muffled whine accompanying a sigh as he shifted to glare prepensely at the boy who wouldn’t leave his thoughts, now sitting at the end of his bed, and a little too far away for Marco’s liking. The brunette flailed. Reaching one arm forward, Marco’s fingertips just barely glanced Jean’s forearm from his new position. He pushed his face into the covers more, vision going black at it was engulfed in the mountain of cotton beneath him. Letting out an agitated groan, Marco flopped back into the covers in defeat, letting his arm fall limp.

Fine.

“You’re mean.” Marco sighed through the duvet. His muffled response sounding more like an annoying whine then much else.

Marco heard the bed springs shift, and cool fingers intertwined with his own. Something warm brushed through his hair, gently.

“I have no idea what you could possibly be talking about.” Jean’s voice was next to his ear now, low and husky, and it sent shivers up and down Marco’s spine, pricking at the hair on his arms. The resonance in the other boy’s tone ticking at the base of Marco’s skull as he felt Jean’s hand slither down his neck and across his shoulders.

Jean sighed. “Not sorry.”

Warm air washed over the exposed area of Marco’s neck as he felt Jean’s lips brush against the shell of his ear, slowly trailing down to place light, fluttery kisses along his warming skin. Marco inhaled sharply, feeling a hand slip fluidly down his back. Fingertips barely glancing his skin, like a whisper, they lingered for only a moment. His touch was fleeting, leaving where it had been feeling empty and cool as the contact vanished.

“Plus.” Jean muttered, lips still hovering against Marco’s skin as he continued to trail hot kisses down towards his shoulders. “You’re really cute when you get upset.”

Marco scoffed, attempting to relieve some of the pressure building quickly inside his chest. He shifted, allowing Jean to move down lower, nuzzling his face into the crook of Marco’s neck with a sigh. Marco bit back a breath of his own and Jean nipped playfully at a sensitive spot below his ear. Marco caught a moan on his lips and swallowed it back down, determined not to gasp out loud as he felt a warm tongue run circles along his now prickling skin.

“That’s mean.” Marco breathed, leaning down fluidly and a stealing a kiss, brief, and so sinfully sweet.

The taste of Jean’s lips still lingered on his own as he pulled away, feeling the butterflies in his chest create a whirlwind at the realisation that, yes, he just kissed Jean Kirschtien, that hot hobo who had slept on his couch for the last week and a half. He kissed him on the lips and it was okay to do that now. Even with the morning breath, kissing Jean was something he wouldn’t mind waking up to on a daily basis from here on out. Even if it was under the hastily construed pre tense of “friends with benefits.” That small reminder gave Marco an unwelcome reality check. Something in his gut squirming uncomfortably as he felt his heart throb. As much as Marco appreciated the sudden intimacy the two were now entitled to, so much of his being was still screaming out for something more. He just didn’t know how to ask for it.

Marco wasn’t sure where he stood on that minuscule detail. Inviting Jean into his life had quickly grown into one of the biggest life affirming decisions he had ever made thus far. Regardless of that sense-of-self and so-called act of charity facade many people would have been lead to believe due to Marco’s actions, he had acquired somebody he already considered something incredibly special. Whether the other boy knew it or not, he had already made himself a permanent fixation in Marco’s life, and heart. One the brunette was dead set against severing any time in the near future. It seems Marco had almost instantaneously formed some sort of hesitant complex attachment to Jean that he himself barely understood.

The brunette didn’t want to admit it, but his fondness of the other boy was very nearly verging on a heavily dependant symbiosis, one Marco had to mentally step away from each time he started thinking of Jean as anything more than just a friend. It had happened far too frequently to be accidental. By this point, it was obvious that those feelings he kept getting in the pit of his stomach- the ones resembling a hefty kick to the gut- probably meant something more than the idle curiosity he had originally harboured.

Marco had assumed that it would just be one of those passing fancies, hoping in earnest, that his seemingly amorous feelings for Jean would simply fade with time if he left them alone. People got like that, didn’t they? Falling in lust with someone and mistaking it for love… or whatever those feelings could be deemed as by this point in time? People did do that… right? They did, didn’t they?

Although, that apparently had not been the way things panned out. Marco was secretly thankful for the time he had been given to come to terms with this apparent realisation that yes, he did have a sloppy gay crush on the boy in question now residing on his living room couch. Nearly every waking (and rather frequently, dreaming) hour that ticked by across the face of the bakery’s small antique clock he would find himself drifting off into Jean-addled memories. Marco had quickly learned that minute hands moved surprisingly slowly when contemplating the way your roommate likes to eat his pizza.

Standing at work every day, kneading soft dough on the worn wooden benches, gave Marco’s imagination ample time to run wild. Traipsing around inside his head were the wild ideas about what exactly he would do if kissing Jean were even ever a tangible possibility during his limited lifetime. In between proofing the dough and waiting to fold the next layer for chocolate croissants, Marco couldn’t help but linger on thoughts of Jean. The way his messy hair always fell more to one side of his head, or what he looked like when he had just woken up, amber eyes half lidded as he stood beside that dinky island in his kitchen, lazily sipping away at an already brewed mug of coffee.

Marco had noticed early on, with a sort of wide eyed realisation, that having Jean with him made all his sliding drawers and tiled countertops of that horrifying abomination he called a kitchen feel like a place he would want to stay, instead of one he simply tolerated. Seeing that boy standing there, in the middle of that orange nightmare, made those awful cabinets and the glaring neon look a little less terrifying, and a little more like something called a home.

Marco had caught himself rather frequently like this; idly daydreaming about his new roommate when the hours dragged. It had almost become an automatic response to the now engraved movements his job instilled.

So, when did this part happen?

Letting himself concentrate on the feeling of a warm body next to his, or more specifically, the feeling of Jean’s warm body next to his, Marco sighed dreamily. He allowed himself to forget about their implied status until a later time, when he had plenty of bread, and hours to come to terms with whatever it was they were doing now. For the time being he just wanted to forget, pretending, for a moment that, yeah, maybe what they were now initiating was actually an involved act of romance.

Marco shifted to his side and looped his arms around Jean’s shoulders dragging him down closer so that they were laying chest to chest. He smiled and nuzzled their noses together, pulling a hesitant laugh from the other boy as he scoffed at the cheesy display of affection. Marco absolutely loved the way Jean laughed. He didn’t hear it very often, so each one was special and treasured. Marco tried his best to remind himself not to forget this moment any time soon.

Leaning down, Jean caught Marco’s lips with his own in a heated kiss. Pressing him into the pillowy blankets that surrounded them, he flipped Marco around, hands sliding up his sides. Cool fingers danced over his ribs, drawing a baited hiss from Marco as he shivered against their touch. Arching his back, he let out a soft moan as Jean caught his bottom lip with his teeth, pulling lightly before releasing it and capturing his mouth in another drawn out kiss.

It had been something he’d dreamt about ever since the understanding hit him, a reality living it’s life out inside his own trapped imagination. It was an illusion, one he never even considered to be a possibility until mere hours before they shared that first kiss. Hastily stealing the breath from one another, holding on to each other so desperately, the electricity between the pair so intense, it felt impossible to let go. And over a pot of sloppily made spaghetti, at that. Even if it was under the guise of purely mutual ‘fucking for the sake of fucking’, having Jean this close, having the ability to lean forward and snuggle against him at any given moment, seemed almost surreal to Marco. It felt like a dream, and he really, really didn’t want to wake up.

“We need something to do today” Marco broke through the tense air between them and Jean moved away.

Marco ran his fingers through that messy mop that shielded Jean’s forehead, pushing his fringe to the side to see the other’s face more clearly.

God he was beautiful...

Their bed had now become more of a nest instead of resembling anything near it’s previous blankety intentions, and Marco noted briefly in the back of his mind, that laundry would need to be done sometime later that afternoon.

“Mmm” Was the only response he got as Jean nuzzled closer, shifting with a wiggle to snuggle up at Marco’s side contently, twining his arms smoothly around the other boy’s waist.

“How about you?”

“What?”

“You said I needed something to do today”

“Wh-“ Marco felt his face heat up as he took in the wide smirk playing across the other boy’s lips. Jean, regarding him with sleepy complacency, was evidently, extremely satisfied with his own cocky remark as he watched Marco’s face flush red.

Letting out a sleepy laugh, Jean leaned closer, placing a chaste kiss on the corner of Marco’s mouth and moving away only slightly, the tips of their noses brushing softly. A still silence fell over the two as they held eye contact, staring at one another and just, breathing…

To Marco, it felt like the world had stopped turning and yet, he was experiencing a severe case of vertigo all at the same time.

“Not very conversational in the mornings, I see.” Jean muttered softly, breaking the silence with his words, filling the air with an electricity that pricked at hairs on Marco’s skin.

“I guess that depends.” Marco replied in a low murmur, the words barely loud enough for Jean to catch as the he leaned closer, quickly captured by Marco’s lips in a slow, hypnotising kiss.

Jean let out a soft hum and leaned into the contact, his hands sliding from around Marco’s waist and up his sides again. His actions more sure, more confident this time as they traced delicate patterns across his skin. Marco could feel the callouses on Jean’s hands, rough and cut from the world, against his chest as they trailed upwards, across his shoulders, and down again.

Letting out a small sigh, Marco moved closer, tightening his grip around the other boy. Deepening the kiss and pulling a low groan from the back of Jean’s throat, his fingers slipped up the smooth, pale skin at the small his back. He could feel every line, every smooth curve and hypnotising contour of Jean’s body as he moved. His fingers, working their way upwards, his movements trailing hot against skin, still cool from the dull morning air that swirled, saturated, and mixed around them, with them.

Jean broke away momentarily, shifting his body so that he was positioned above Marco, hands braced on either side of the brunette’s head.

Marco sucked in a breath, the air catching in his throat as he drank in the sight of the boy above him. He couldn’t help but marvel at how beautiful Jean looked; framed by the dusty morning light, everything was shaded in dull muted tones of silky grey and black, shadows falling loosely across Jean’s profile. He was aligned in smooth parallels of dark and light, the monotoned shades casting his face against the sharp relief of morning’s pale obscurity. Everything was black and white. Everything, except those magnifying, amber eyes, pinning him down with an intense fervour; idly watching, and stealing his breath away with every passing second.

Their eyes were still locked as Jean moved down again, catching the other boy’s lips with his own, a low, primal snarl escaping from deep in Jean’s throat. Grabbing Marco’s bottom lip with his teeth and sucking urgently, Marco felt his body move of it’s own volition, his back arching as he felt rough fingers flick briefly over his nipples, reacting to the kiss almost instantaneously as he bit back a startled gasp.

“Mhmm- Jean.” His own voice sounded faint, unfamiliar, as Marco distantly noted the tone of someone a little needier than he would have initially hoped. It came out light, airy, embarrassingly desperate.

Jean replied, in kind, with another deep kiss. Gently releasing his bottom lip, as his tongue darted smoothly across the inside of Marco’s mouth, eliciting another low moan from the boy now pinned steadily beneath Jean’s frame as he kissed him feverishly, unraveling Marco into broken gasps and moans. Grinding his hips down to meet Marco’s, Jean released a breathy gasp of his own, the sound escaping through the small space between them as each boy moved to try and gulp down a steady breath of air before closing the gap once more, their silhouettes merging in the faint, bleary light of a now hazy sunrise. A bright orb of light bleached the horizon outside with lazy resignation of another sleepy, frigid, Trost day yet to come.

 

-

 

Trekking through heavy snow and thick drifts of sleet, Marco bit down on his lip with a shiver. Willing his body to keep steady as it focused on the dull pain rather than the cold creeping through his clothing and winding its way down his spine, it quickly made his nerves numb to the world outside. Clenching his teeth with a resigned sigh, he focused on the warmth in his hands, tightening them considerably and just bearing with it. It always took a good ten minutes to get used to the frigid air that surrounded the pair as they made their now familiar walk into the centre of town. Sticking close to one another in a miserable plea against the cold, somehow, Jean’s sullen presence made the feeling a little more bearable.

Marco could feel his eyelashes stick against skin every time he blinked, brushing against cold cheeks that were already flushed a bright red, the colour spreading across his nose and ears, wind rubbing them raw. Marco could swear, it felt as if his limbs had left him as the chill continued seeping through his loose blue letterman, through to his skin. The temperature outside was only forecasted at a balmy -12 degrees, but with windchill, it felt like -25. Staying home cuddled tightly under the duvet with Jean had never sounded as tempting as it did at that very moment. Marco had half a mind to turn his way around and drag the pair, now trudging blearily about in this cold outside world, back into the warm apartment, and under the blankets they had only just escaped.

Clenching his teeth against another onset of violent shivers, Marco snuck his hand to the side. Catching Jean’s with his own, he gave the other boy’s gloved hand a comforting squeeze and looked to his left, smiling blearily as he took in the profile of the boy he had kissed only minutes before. The one who had grumbled a string of curses while shoving his arms into his jacket as Marco chided him onwards and out of the house. The one who had kissed him again, quickly on the lips, just before heading out the door and into the cold.

Jean was frowning, as usual, his sharp features pulled into a disgusted scowl as he focused onwards, clearly trying to adjust to the cold himself. His expression was frozen in place, as if the wind itself had slapped it there. Jean’s uneven hair was tucked messily under his toque, his sweater’s hood pulled loosely up over top of that, the jacket’s military green offsetting the blue of snow and sky with an earthy undertone that reminded Marco of summer, or sometime back when it was warm.

He glanced ahead again, narrowing his eyes as they passed yet another side street, blanketed in snowdrifts piled high on either side of the road like mountains, creating a miniature landscape of ashen white and bold brown.

It wasn’t often that Marco found himself with two days off from work in a row. The small family run bakery wasn’t exactly busy enough for more than one hired employee at a time, and Marco usually had no problem working the hours allotted to him. Often times he would go weeks on end without a break in sight. Working daily at the small establishment, kneading and shaping rolls for hours upon hours, only to return home clouded in a floury haze was calming to him. The monotony took almost no effort anymore. It created a purpose, a reason for every day that he took comfort in. Usually Marco would pass out right there on the surface of his kitchen countertop, and to be quite honest, it still proved a rather effective lifestyle while he had remained the sole occupant of the tiny place. Regrettably, (or maybe fortunately) now that Jean was around, this habit didn't’ seem as viable, and by some miracle of circumstance, Marco had begun actually looking after himself again. He even bought cutlery. Maybe it was having another body present, maybe it was the fact the Jean was the person now taking up space in his little one bedroom apartment. Whatever the reason, Marco was incredibly grateful to have some variety in his life again. It had been a long time since he felt anything close to as alive as he did now, as invigorated.

Now, given the opportunity, the freckled brunette wanted to do all he could to make the most of his time off. Sometime after 10, Marco reluctantly had urged Jean upwards, off of the bed, into his boots, and out of their apartment, plunging them neck deep into the cool January air itself. He had coaxed his flatmate, rather skilfully, into the world of the living under the clever pretences of pizza and perhaps a cup of coffee for his troubles.

Seeing as Jean had used up the last of the coffee beans yesterday morning, this feat wasn’t all that challenging. Jean seemed partial to pretty much any caffeinated beverage, downing the scalding coffees and sugary pop drinks with more conviction than Marco had ever seen a grown man display before. It may have been underhanded, but the alluring temptation of caffeinated energy had Jean out the door sooner than he could have hoped. His enthusiasm, highly entertaining as he urged Marco to get ready faster.

Turning onto the main stretch of shops, Marco had a hard time biting back a smile as he watched Jean hungrily eyeing up passers by, cradling warm cups of Starbucks in hand. The brunette mused, with hidden mirth, that the look Jean was now giving those coffee mugs was similar to a certain one he had been privy to not hours beforehand, behind the locked door of his bedroom. Somehow, surrounding themselves with vibrant street life and the bustle of late January shoppers made the events of their previous night together that much more… real. Something about the feeling of Jean’s hand in his made Marco’s heart lift and soar right over the clouds. Marco felt like a kid again, winding through the frost covered winter, hand in hand with the boy he had, only days before, been fantasizing about. It felt like he was walking on air. Marco had to repeatedly take a step back, reminding himself to calm down, hastily running over a scripted mental reprimand every time that stupid grin on his face became a little too large and obvious. The fact that they were even holding hands in the first place was what baffled Marco most.

For as much as his experience went, ‘friends with benefits’ didn’t go around walking arm in arm with their person of specified sexual desires. That was something couples did. And, as far as Marco understood, that term was still a little far off from their current standards of interaction, regardless of whether or not he wanted it otherwise. Marco felt a dull throb in the bottom of his chest again. It was that dull tightening feeling again from earlier; that feeling, acting as a blatant reminder that what they were doing would probably not last for long. If anything that sharp twisting was now doing a rather thorough job of wiping any remnants of his silly grin abruptly off of Marco’s windswept face.

Rounding a street corner, the pair stepped into a square. It was still early. There were families and couples milling about idly, drinking hot cocoa and sharing benches, their bodies shielded, backs against the blustery wind to buffer the worst of it. The ground had been coated in a thick pressed rubber, resembling something more along the lines of soft concrete. Its surface raw and marred with the narrow imprints of metal blades, scattered the ground with linear scars. Dull scratching sounds filled the quiet air as old classics played from speakers dangling high above the spectators. Tunes from the 40’s, wafting down to reach the crowd’s rosy ears as they milled about, cast the mood in a melancholy feeling of optimism. It was hard not to be swept up in the cheesy facade of post holiday cheer. It felt, and looked, like something you would see on a Christmas card, and Marco wondered, with sudden bewilderment, if he had chosen the wrong activity for their mid morning saunter.

Stealing a glance to the boy at his side, the brunette noted, with a dull sinking feeling, that the expression on his partner’s face had frozen into one of muted confusion and slight terror at the sight before them.

“You want me to go skating?” Were the words first out of Jean’s lips. His mouth moving heavily around vowels that filtered up into the open air.

Marco forced a cautious smile at this, releasing Jean’s hand reluctantly and shoving his own deep into the pockets of his baggy letterman.

“Well I thought i might be kind of fun.” He looked at the ground sheepishly now, feet shuffling awkwardly in the firmly packed snow. “It’s been a while since I’ve gone skating.” Marco chanced another glance up at Jean whose face was still frozen in mock horror. “We don’t have to, I just thought that it was warm enough to go and...” Marco finished off with a small shrug, smiling self consciously as he surveyed Jeans reaction, waiting patiently for any tell tale signs that Jean would rather turn right around and head for home. Surprisingly, he didn’t see any.

Jean pulled his mouth into that familiar thin line, letting out a quiet hum as he surveyed the scene once again before his eye’s met Marco’s. He was grinning now, the frown replaced with cocky confidence. One of those smiles, Marco realised, he was beginning to see more and more often as the days wore forward.

“I used to play hockey, you know.” Jean drawled, the grin now morphing into a an arrogant smile. “You sure you wanna do this Bodt?” Jean was practically beaming by this point, albeit, a little smugly, but he was smiling and that’s all Marco cared about.

Marco felt his own expression melt into one mirroring the other boy’s, grinning widely at Jean with feigned confidence. “This isn’t a competition you know. Plus, if I suck, that means you’re gonna have to teach me.”

Jean let out a short laugh, rubbing his nose with a gloved finger and turning back to face the rink. “Or I’ll just leave your ass in the dust.”

Rolling his eyes in mock annoyance, Marco stepped past Jean, giving the other boy’s jacket sleeve a light tug as he went, their arms brushing casually against one another.

“I’ll get the tickets then and we can find out. What size are your feet?”

Jean, following close behind, replied with a faint mutter, his gaze suddenly flitting to the ground as he buried his hands deep within the jacket pockets at his side.

“Sorry, what?” Marco glanced back, distractedly digging in his jacket pockets for some ticket money, stepping up the join the queue that was slowly growing as they waited.

“I keep forgetting you have to pay for everything.” Jean muttered again, voice still low as he spoke, refusing to make eye contact with Marco’s wide orbs of brown now gazing at him questioningly. “Sorry man, i just...” It was his turn to shuffle uncomfortably this time, kicking at a pitiful mound of snow in the walkway that had been missed by the shovels earlier that day. Jean shrugged half heartedly.

Marco’s eyes widened, realisation hitting him hard as he took in the awkward stance of his friend, shoulders slumped in hesitant retreat. Jean’s head was bowed low to the ground now, all Marco could see was the top of that bright red beanie the two had gotten to replace his old grey one a few nights ago.

Gaze softening, Marco stepped out of line, resting his hands on Jean’s shoulder and guiding him with a gentle tug to the benches nearby. The pair stopped in front of a stringy sapling, branches bare and heavy with snow, bowing to the climate and bulky drifts atop it. When Marco spoke, his voice was soft, gentle.

“I told you before Jean, none of this bothers me. I wouldn’t be helping you if I didn’t want to.” He frowned, not seeing any visible shift from the boy in front of him.

Jean sighed, shifting his gaze to a branch on the narrow tree and pulling it down, watching it spring forward as he released it, the snow from before raining down across his shoes.

“I know you say things like that Marco. Like, all the freaking time.” He paused, biting lightly on his bottom lip, collecting his words. “But I mean, man, nobody’s just that nice every waking hour of every single day. Doesn’t this bother you, even a little? Like, where are you getting all of this money?” When Jean looked up again his gaze was burning, fuelled by something that resembled fury, without anger. It lacked the spark of hostility, and Marco could see more frustration than anything brimming in those amber eyes.

Marco’s expression faltered, a slight frown gracing his gentle features, eyebrows knitting together into concerned arches. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed this Jean, but my expenses aren't exactly all that high. I mean, given my everyday life consists of working until i pass out, and drinking the occasional expensive coffee…” He kicked at the ground with his snow covered boot as he shifted uncomfortably. “Rent really isn’t that high either, my apartment’s not exactly the Shangri-La.” He paused to take a breath, laughing breathily as he noticed a shift in demeanour, Jean’s expression warping into one of bewildered disbelief. It was fun, watching Jean’s face contort into a countenance that betrayed his defeated demeanour rather blatantly. “I’ve had plenty of time to save money, and never really anything to do with it up until now.” Marco hummed lightly, feeling a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “It’s not like I go drinking every weekend, or like to buy expensive clothing or something. And I'm not, like, looking at buying a house anytime soon…” Marco trailed off and shrugged, forcing his hands back into jacket pockets and gave Jean a sheepish grin. “besides, if it means having you around, I really don't mind the extra cost.” Realising what he had said, Marco quickly ducked his head, avoiding meeting the gaze of the other boy as he huddled deeper into his own coat. “Like, it’s not as if you’re gonna plunge me into bankruptcy or anything.” He finished, sniffing lightly. His cheeks were numb at this point, and Marco was sure that the rouge adoring them now was probably not due to the cold.

Jean stared a little, just shaking his head silently for a moment, the pause in conversation causing Marco to laugh nervously under the other boy’s incriminating posture. When Jean opened his mouth finally, there was a shy smile turning at the corner of his lips.

“Jesus Christ Marco, you really are such a fucking dweeb.”

Marco laughed, feeling relief wash over him at Jean’s subtle commentary. He replied, in earnest, with an embarrassed shrug. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time… I’m not gonna argue with that. Besides, taking you skating and watching you fall on your face is as good enough payment as any I could possibly get.” Marco smiled this time, the crease of his nose crinkling as he squeezed his eyes shut in a goofy sort of grin, its contagious quality rubbing off on the sullen boy at his side.

Jean’s lips reluctantly quirked upwards and he gave the branch he had been tugging on one final shove, knocking the remaining snow off of it’s frame and freeing the small sapling from the confines of it’s heavy blanket the plant had so desperately been attempting to bare. “You’re kind of a naive idiot, you know that?”

Marco laughed and pulled his hands out from the inside of his pockets, lowering his fingers to tug casually on the material wrapped snugly around Jean’s fingers.  “So we skating or what?”

Jean released a small scoff of his own, a fond smile settling itself comfortably onto his features this time. “Yeah, okay. Fine. But I’m not falling on my ass just because you want me to.” He returned the gesture by trapping Marco’s fingers with his own, giving them a tentative squeeze and smiling at the ground.

Marco’s laughter bubbled upwards, bright and clear, like the sky above him. The outside world around them, cold and open, seemingly, just a little bit warmer as the two queued back in line, Jean’s fingers linked comfortably with his.

-

 

“Stop laughing! Like you’re any better.”

Marco watched as Jean tried to right himself, slipping for the millionth time as his feet flew out from under him. Jean’s momentum sent the boy flying with a high pitched yelp. Marco pushed off of the ice with ease and looped his arms under Jean’s, sliding just in time to save his head from that sickening crack he knew all too well from winters spent on the ice at home. The two slid an inch or two before their momentum petered out, Jean grumbling an embarrassed thanks as Marco righted him again. It felt like his face would break, with the amount of times he had been smiling today. Watching Jean struggle was entertainment in and of itself, although he did his best to make sure the other boy didn’t get bruised up too badly because of it. As much as Jean protested, Marco would caution a guess that he wasn’t as practiced on the ice as Jean would have led him to believe, had the evidence not been fairly obvious.

“I’m guessing you used to skate pretty often, didn’t you?” Jean’s voice drew Marco out of his reverie as the pair rounded a turn. He hadn’t noticed it before, but he was still holding onto Jean’s hand as they slid down the ice, the heat from their linked fingers seeping through his glove and keeping it warm. The fact that Jean also hadn’t let go made his heart do that weird fluttery thing he couldn’t quite place. Marco recalled vaguely, that it had been happening more and more frequently as his time drew on.  Flushing brightly, Marco lowered his eyes fixing them on the glossy surface of ice below his feet. The scrape of their skates the only sound ringing in the chilled air that enveloped them.

“Well not as much as I’d have liked to. But it’s a nice way to spend the winter.” He grinned into the wind. “My dad used to take me skating as a kid. He would pull me around backwards and teach me how to skate that way. Of course, I always ended up falling on my face because he was going too fast for me… but it was fun”

He could hear Jean cough out a little laugh at his response. “You have a fucked up definition of fun Marco.”

Marco’s lips drew into another smile as he raised his eyes again, meeting Jean’s briefly before the pair dissolved into a string of awkward sniffs and smiles, both boys doing their best to resume an air of normalcy and distance they clearly knew was fading fast. Marco forced a sigh and pushed off of the ice, dragging Jean behind him as he circled around to skate backwards. Facing Jean and taking both hands in his as they careened forwards Marco grinned. “You’re just mad you don’t know how to skate. If you want i can teach you.” There was an air of mockery in his voice, and even Marco had a hard time discerning whether or not the gesture was flirtatious.

Scoffing, Jean sped up, earning a surprised yelp from Marco as he felt himself being pushed backwards along the ice, a little faster then comfortable.

“You wanna bet?” Jean smirked, his eyes glinting avidly.

“C-careful!!” The brunette exclaimed, letting one of Jean’s hands go to windmill around for something to grab hold of. Of course, finding nothing.

Jean cackled and slowed down again, giving Marco a light tug forward to pull him back to centre. “Don’t underestimate me. I just need a bit of time to get used to this again.” Jean was grinning, his tawny eyes glinting warmly in the dim light of winter that fell across the skating rink at this hour. Given that it was already one, the sky was tinged with a hint of sunset, reminding Marco of Winter’s short reprieve of daylight. The washed out light gleamed against ice, reflective like glass, delicate and marred. It swept across the expanse of mirror, refracting rays of sunlight that arched through the sky in twisted rays of pastel blues and crimson. Jean was grinning now, he was grinning and he was beautiful, and Marco would have done anything to see that crooked smile of his more often. That stupid smirk, the way one side of his mouth lifted higher than the other, almost mockingly. Marco wanted so badly to lean forward and kiss it off, kiss it until Jean was kissing him back, their cloudy breath mingling in the frigid air.

Marco gave a soft hum and leaned forward, the motion sending them both spinning in a loose circle as he released Jean’s other hand. Looping his arms around the other boy’s neck with little protest as he dragged Jean closer.

“Hey, you know… I kind of…” He let out another little hum, turning his eyes skywards before meeting the other boy’s with offhanded innocence. “-wanna kiss you right now.” Marco couldn’t believe what he was saying, but it was out now. Spoken in a tone that sounded almost casual, quiet. He didn’t even know he had it in him to flirt this much, or in this way, whatsoever.

“You wanna… kiss me…” Jean’s voice came out quiet, tinged with amusement, the corner of his mouth quirking up in the crooked smile again. He leaned forward, Jean’s arms steadying themselves around Marco’s waist as he closed the space between them. There was only a breath now, one tiny sliver of light separating their bodies from colliding. The pair’s spin had petered into a slow revolve, the rink steadying itself as they slowly circled each other, Jean’s amber irises burning themselves into Marco’s memory. “Right now huh?” When Jean spoke it was a hushed whisper, a breath barely leaving his lips. Words only Marco could hear as he leaned closer, tilting his head up slowly to be met halfway, Marco, closing the space with the hesitant release of a breath not taken.

Separating slowly the pair stared, quiet, unspeaking. Marco was aware of the people skating by, the cheesy music playing out of those box speakers as family circled the rink over and over, like clockwork on a manual roundabout. Except none of it mattered. It was as if the world had been doused in a cotton veil, blurring the contours of his vision to mere shapes and colours of distortion. All he could hear was his own heartbeat, mingling with Jean’s steady breath as they held each other in place. Seconds passed that felt like hours, the cold, seemingly absent as he lost himself in everything about this boy. His eyes, his mouth, the way that hat was sitting a little too far to the left of his head, shifting his unruly fringe off centre, the way Jean’s jacket hung loosely off of his narrow shoulders, collecting at his elbows in misshapen bunches and folds. He was perfect. So incredibly perfect.

“So, you uh… Wanna get something to eat?” Jean was speaking now, his face tinged with a light shade of pink as he rubbed at the back of his neck, releasing Marco’s waist to do so.

Marco stammered, stumbling to find his words as he attempted to reel himself back into what was presumably a somewhat casual semblance of self. “Uh, sure,  if you’re done with this now. I mean… BUT, uh, not this!” he was motioning quickly now, between himself and Jean, flustered. “But, uh, I mean, skating… that is. That’s the this… uh- skating… If you’re done with skating.”

Jean was smirking again, mirth glinting in his eyes as he watched Marco struggle.

“Skating, I’m done with.” He replied in earnest, that grin still framing his face, Jean leaned close again. “You though… I’m not done with you yet.” His last words were spoken in a teasing whisper Jean sliding in a wide circle, his blades catching on the ice in a smooth glide. He was already out of reach before Marco could reply. Leaving the brunette to stand there, gaping openly at the implications of Jean’s last statement.

A family of four slid by, a little girl following in tow as her brother yelled backwards for her to speed up. It felt surreal, all of it. The skating rink, Jean. It felt as it he were dreaming it all up.

As Marco watched Jean’s retreating form, noticing with some amusement how comfortable Jean seemed to have gotten on the ice all of a sudden he smiled. He was happy, truly, incredibly happy. Pushing off from his standstill, Marco’s blades made quick work, propelling him forward fluidly as he wove through the strangers moving in that congruent circle. Marco let out a tiny squeak, noticing, a little too late, how much speed he had picked up. “Jean!” Was about all the warning he could give as Marco braced himself, wrapping his arms around the other boys torso as they collided, the pair, barrelling face first into a snow mound at the corner of the rink.

“Oh my gosh! Jean I'm so sorry!” Marco blurted, sitting straight up as his surroundings steadied themselves. He shivered, feeling cold show drop down the collar if his jacket in a frozen clump. “Are you alright?”

Hearing Jean’s muffled response caused Marco to flush with embarrassment. “You’re lucky there was snow here or I could be complaining about a lot more.” Jean straightened himself up, picking a few clumps of flurries from his hair. “God dammit. And I thought I was having trouble remembering how to do this thing.”

Marco blushed even deeper and dropped his gaze. “I am really sorry. I didn’t mean…”

He felt a weight land on his shoulder. “Dude, I'm kidding.” Jean’s voice rung in his ear and Marco looked up. Jean pulled a face, clearly noticing Marco’s concern. “Don’t look so depressed about it. I seriously don’t care.” He smiled. “I mean. I spent an entire year sitting in puddles. This is not anything new for me” Jean grimaced as he spoke, shivering slightly as he recalled his puddle-sitting stint of early spring that previous year.

Marco had to hold himself back from laughing, watching as Jean’s face contorted into a soggy frown. “I’m still sorry.” he managed. “But I’ll take your word for it I guess.”

Jean’s frown lifted and he struggled to his feet, kicking at the melting piles that had already clung to the sides of his boots. “We should probably quit while we’re ahead huh?”

Laughing, Marco nodded his assent, pulling himself from the snow pile and brushing his pants off. “I think so. How about that coffee? And I think we were going to get something to eat?”

Jean’s eyes practically lit up at the mention of caffeine and he was on his way to the booth in no time, unlacing his skates with the conviction of a starving ten year old who just found the last poptart. “Hurry up or I’m leaving your freckled ass behind.” Jean shouted from halfway to the rental station, not even bothering to turn around as a few parents gasped, covering their children’s ears a moment too late to hide them from the mild vernacular assault.

Marco rolled his eyes and followed after Jean cautiously, watching the accusatory glares he earned from a couple sitting nearby the rental booth.

By the time Marco caught up he was laughing “You know, it’s probably not a good idea to swear so loudly when we’re somewhere with a lot of kids around.” He chuckled, handing in their ticket to return the skates that they had rented. Taking their shoes with a quiet “thanks” Marco turned around holding out Jean’s boots with a small smile. “A lot of parents are gonna hate you if you keep screaming swear words at your leisure.”

Jean scoffed and took his shoes gently. “They’re bound to hear it eventually. I’m just… giving them some real world experiences.”

“Of what? Rude hobos?” Marco retorted, genuinely amused at Jean’s reactions.

Holding up his hands defensively Jean shook his head. “Woah now. No hobo, Marco. At least not anymore, I guess.” Jean smiled sheepishly and bumped Marco lightly with his shoulder. “Thanks to you.”

Marco felt that warm fluttering in his chest again and smiled, letting out a little sigh “No hobo, huh?”

“Jean?”

Suddenly everything stopped, the butterflies in Marco’s stomach dropping, solid, turned to rocks. He knew that voice, he had heard it only once before, but he knew that voice so clearly. Looking up, his eyes met a familiar crop of blonde hair.

Jean was still, standing as if he were frozen at Marco’s side. “Thomas…” Was the only word that fell from his his lips, amber eyes wide and furious.

He was standing by a sapling, the one Jean had been pulling at only hours ago. Bundled in a thick scarf and heavy jacket, Thomas had the air of someone completely comfortable in the cold. His dark jeans clung to his long legs, covered by boots half way down his calves, hockey skates hanging over his shoulders.

“Jean. Hi...” Thomas paused, his eyes flicking over Marco for a moment, a sliver of hostility faintly glinting in them behind cloudy blue.

Marco shivered. There was something in that look that seemed almost… hostile. If he hadn’t been mistaken, he’d venture to guess that Thomas was… jealous of him.

“I can’t believe you’re here too. What are the chances?” Thomas was smiling now, lips pulled into a warm beam. His tone was lilting, welcoming, friendly, everything Marco thought he was not.  
Marco’s eyes slowly slid from Thomas, back to Jean, just in time to watch as Jean unravelled. It was awful, and he didn’t know how to stop the boy at his side from falling apart completely.   
Jean’s expression shifted between emotions like a storm. Confusion, sadness, joy, anger, it all phased across his sharp features in an instant before dissolving behind a stoic mask, his eyes, the only crack in his facade,  the break that showed he was feeling anything other than neutral indifference towards this boy.

“Thomas… what are you doing here?” His voice was measured, calculated, tense. Marco could tell that he was holding himself back, from what exactly, he wasn’t sure.

Thomas laughed nervously, shrugging as he motioned with a nod towards the skating rink. “I came here to meet some friends. Uh, from college.” His eyes grew wide then, his mouth formed into a soft “o”. “If you want, I mean, you could come with us.” Shoving his hands in the pockets of his sleek black ski jacket, Thomas stared at the ground before meeting Jean’s eyes again. “I’d love to catch up with you… So I mean… if you want.” His expression was warm, welcoming… almost apologetic.

If it had been anybody else, Marco would have been inclined to urge Jean to go with the boy, he knew eventually Jean would need a social life of his own, and this seemed like a pretty good moment to start.

But it was Thomas…

It was hard, Marco was never one to dislike a person, especially before getting to know them. He always took strangers at face value, assuming the good in everyone until proven otherwise. But he had seen Jean cry over this boy. As much as he couldn’t find it in him, Marco felt almost obligated to distance himself from the guy.

A brisk wind picked up, swirling around the trio as they stood in a temporary silence. Whisking flurries into the air as the currents circled around their feet, weaving and diving, cold veins of weather sparking up under Marco’s jacket, he imagined the feeling was probably similar to being in the middle of Jean’s mind given the moment.

The boy in question’s jaw clenched and  Marco could hear his sharp intake of breath as Jean opened his mouth to speak.

“I’m kind of in the middle of something, if you haven’t noticed.” His words came out stretched and thin, sounding as if he were pulling on every last syllable before it wound it way forward, taking flight into the air from his mouth.

Thomas’s expression shifted from warm to confused in an instant, eyes landing, finally, fully on Marco. “Was I interrupting?” His expression fell as he seemingly put two and two together, eyebrows knitting as he pressed his lips into a frown. “I didn’t think that… are you on a date?”

“What? No!”

“Yes.”  
Both Marco and Jean had spoken at the same time. Marco’s eyes widened as they flew to meet Jeans, now pointed directly at him. Deep deep amber, staring him down.

“Y-yes?” Marco squeaked, feeling his hands go numb as he found himself pinned by the other boy’s pointed stare. His heart was pounding as they held eachothers gaze a moment longer before breaking contact. “Uh, yes…”

“Yes,” Jean parrotted, almost confirming the detail in his solid statement. “So, Thomas, I’d appreciate if you step out of the way.” He looked stony, and Marco wondered, for a moment, just what exactly was going through Jean’s mind as he took a hold of Marco’s arm and dragged him ahead, his fingers pressing through the fabric and leaving marks on his skin.

Marco, let out a little hiss as he followed, wincing against the iron hold Jean had clamped onto his wrist.

Thomas looked taken aback as Jean pushed past him, bumping shoulders purposefully as he dragged Marco in tow. His eyebrows set in determination, eyes fiery.

Thomas’s mouth was open, gaping, as he stepped aside to let Marco pass with a muted “sorry”, clearly equally as shocked by Jean’s hostile reaction. His mouth pressed into a thin line after a moment as he watched the pair. Crossing arms over his broad chest, something akin to hurt flitting in his bright eyes Thomas spoke. “So this is your new boyfriend then.” He didn’t sound angry, just, sad. His voice wavered on a note of sombreness that didn’t quite suit Thomas’s brash demeanor from before.

“Yeah, he is.” Jean shot, looking back and making eye contact with Thomas again as he spoke, expression, still, unreadable and firm.

Marco’s stomach flipped.

What did he just call me?

“-So back off.”

Marco hadn’t noticed, but Jean was still talking.

“Let’s go.” Jean gave Marco’s arm a light tug before letting it go, his hand slipping down to meet Marcos, intertwining their fingers, the motion mirroring a tenderness Marco wasn’t expecting from the boy.

“Jean. I- we don’t have to be.” Thomas stammered, his words hurried and thoughtless as he fought to keep them there. “I mean, we can still be friends… I’m not trying to get in the middle of…” Thomas’s eyes met Marcos for a split second. He looked hurt, almost like a kicked puppy Marco felt sorry for the guy, he earnestly just looked… abandoned. A wave of guilt washed over him, and Marco averted his gaze, directing it to the snow. beneath his feet, he still had his skates on.

“I only wanted to catch up with you. See how you were. I mean. Maybe we could, uh. Later?” He looked hopeful as his question reverberated off of the clean snow.

The sky was brightening now, clouds shifting as they made way for the sun above their heads. It was still cold, but the beams of light were now warming, falling across their shoulders like a wave of warmth, thawing the bitter wind at their feet.

“No, Thomas.” Was all Jean said before trudging ahead.

Marco glanced back, watching as the blonde stood for a moment, glued in place, staring at the sky.

Thomas let out a long sigh, his breath puffing up as clouds, into the empty air before looking down. He was staring at his feet pointedly as if there were something more that only he could see sitting between his boots. Kicking at the snow, one, two times, Thomas turned and left, disappearing into the crowd of families and couples that swarmed to the rink.

“Jean.”  
He wasn’t talking.

They had stopped now, a few benches sat across from them on either side and Marco took initiative, giving Jean’s hand a squeeze and heading to their left.

“Fuck that guy.” Jean muttered. His voice sounded bitter and disconnected as the stopped again, Marco leaning down to unlace his own skates slowly. “Fuck him. How could he have the nerve to-” Jean’s voice was rising again and Marco stood up, placing a hand on Jean’s shoulder. He was shaking. Taking a deep breath Jean shook his head and pulled down his beanie. “No, you know what? It doesn’t matter.” He jabbed the toe of his shoe into to mound of snow and sighed. “Thomas can do what he wants to for all I care. As long as he stays the hell away from me I could fucking care less..” He turned to face Marco now, the blank expression from earlier giving way to a soft smile. “Uh… Thanks for being there though… Marco.”

Marco felt his face flush and he looked down. “Uh yeah… I mean, it’s not like I did anything at all, really… but. You’re welcome?”

Jean snickered and gave Marco’s sleeve a tug, looking down also. “Yeah…”

A comfortable silence fell between the two as they stood there, bright sunlight warming their backs as it fought off the cold of winter’s spell.

Smiling, Marco gave Jean’s boot a little nudge with his skate. “Hey…”

“Yeah?”  
“Back there… You uh… you” Marco ducked his head, feeling his face heat up as the words were spoken. “You called me your boyfriend…” Glancing up tentatively, he noticed Jean was smiling.

“Yeah… I guess I did.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Careful where you stand, my love  
> Careful where you lay your head  
> It's true we're always there  
> Looking out for one another
> 
> \---
> 
> AAAHHHHHH IT UPDATED!!!  
> sO! I need to say a few things:
> 
> 1\. Thank you to my amazing friend and [Beta Reader](http://titanb00ty.tumblr.com), honestly, thank you so so much!
> 
> 2\. I have an [Audio Fairy](http://melthehitman.tumblr.com), she's hella cute, and she's reading Angel out loud. I cry every time she reads a chapter, you guys have no idea.
> 
> 3\. THANK YOU ALL OF YOU AMAZING ARTISTS WHO HAVE DRAWN FANART FOR THIS FIC OH MY GOD I CANNOT BELIEVE!!!  
> you can find them  
> [Here](http://peanutbutterkohai.tumblr.com/post/88499666260/a-scene-from-chapter-4-of-the-amazing-fic-angel-by)  
> [Here](http://inverted-typo.tumblr.com/post/84805321072/jellys-beautiful-angel-fic-is-beautiful)  
> [Here](http://rainbowderpyhead.tumblr.com/post/83066956982/done-jean-and-marco-from-jellyfishsempais-fic)  
> [Here](http://bimmykimmy.tumblr.com/post/84747408921/marco-starin-at-the-hot-hobo-while-playing-mario)  
> And  
> [Here](http://hdotk.tumblr.com/post/80938636131/marco-laughed-leaning-forward-a-little-further)
> 
> You guys can reach me on [Tumblr](http://jellyfishsempai.tumblr.com) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/jadworth) if you ever wanna talk! and thank you for sticking around this long to read an update!!! It means so much to me! You have no idea!!
> 
> Love  
> Mama Jelly


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